The illusion of peace

[Ascendancy]

Wolff held out a hand and Martin waited for something to happen. The barest movement shifted against his knee, and his gaze fell to the desk. It almost croaked with movement, like a great tree lifting one of its massive roots after a hundred years underground. He pushed back from the elevating furniture, desk chair rolling smoothly away. A pen rolled off as it passed his head, clattering to the ground. Wide eyes quickly narrowed when Wolff announced her ability to return it to the floor. "That's enough," Martin's tone was clipped short, but whether irritated or afraid, one couldn't say. Suffice to say, he concealed a shiver down his spine. Anyone to share a room with Wolff was at her mercy. For if she could move the furniture, what stopped her from moving him out the window?

Loyalty.

"Good luck in Moscow, Wolff." He stood.