Air.
Real, full, precious air surged back into her lungs, cold and biting, and Priscilla nearly choked on the relief. She steadied herself with a hand against the column behind her, the world stuttering back into motion one throb of her pulse at a time.
The pain was gone.
The grip—gone.
The humiliation?
Still there. Deep. Raw. Burning behind her ribs like shame stitched into bone.
And then—she saw him.
Lucavion.
He stood only a few paces away, not close enough to crowd, not far enough to miss. One hand rested at his side, casual, as if he'd just brushed dust from his coat. The other tucked calmly behind his back.
And his eyes?
Fixed on Thalor.
Unmoving. Unblinking.
A smile curved his lips—quiet, razor-thin, and unmistakably deliberate. The kind of smile that didn't ask if someone was alright.
