By noon, the sun hung high above Virencia's stonework spires, painting long, bright slashes across the cathedral courtyard. Luke adjusted his cloak, tugged once at the strap of his satchel, and exhaled through his nose as if steadying himself before a stage act. In a way, that's exactly what this was—another performance, another room full of people who believed he was something he wasn't. Only this time, it wasn't about tricking a crowd or dazzling a stranger. It was just one man. One incredibly important, incredibly sharp man.
Archimedes.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come?" Ilyrana asked, standing beside the cathedral steps. Her hair caught the light like spun silver, a contrast to the shadowed doorway behind her.
Luke gave her a crooked grin.
"Nah. This is just… routine stuff. Checking in, asking how much longer until we're free to go, making sure he's not expecting me to stick around for some mage seminar," he shrugged. "Nothing you need to sit through."
