Welcome. Meeting. Interrogation. Meal. All in all, it was a short meeting. Longer than he had expected it to last for. Luckily shorter than getting captured, imprisoned and tortured. There were always excuses for torture. But that didn't happen, at least not this time. None of the worst-case-scenarios had occured. The Apahanta was still cloaked, waiting for the return of the Captain.
But this felt different. Maybe it was because his belly was stuffed with horribly consequential food. Maybe it was something else. Maybe just her. Right now, he felt Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup was less intimidating, yet still commanding respect. Respect and admiration. As she held out her hand for the goodbye, he looked at her thin arm, her hand. He took it, his eyes meeting hers. "On my ship, hopefully. So you will get to enjoy some curacaoan cuisine as well."
A firm handshake, a final glance accompanied by his charming smirk. Then it was time to depart. The Curacaoan climbed up the ladder to the cockpit of the Charming Rover. A few moments later, she tiny bretonian scout left the hangar and headed for the rendezvous coordinates with the cloaked mothership.
Back then, Ezrael had no idea how the war would end. But one thing was certain: No matter how it would end, he would keep his promise.
