Cedric had never been meant to disappear.
He wasn't illusion-bound. Wasn't schooled in misdirection or honeyed masks. He didn't weave lies—he endured. He stood. He fought.
And that was the risk.
Not Lucavion recognizing her—she could deflect, manipulate, seduce if she had to.
But if he recognized Reilan for the blade he once was…
She swallowed hard. Her gaze flicked—brief, sharp—toward Cedric.
Still calm. Still unreadable. But his jaw was tight.
He felt it too.
Not fear. Not panic. But that electric stillness that came just before a storm.
Elara shifted her weight subtly, bringing herself just a half-step closer to Lucavion, cutting the line of sight between him and Cedric without making it obvious.
Casual. Neutral. No one would notice—
Except Lucavion's eyes cut to her at once.
She forced a smile.
But then….
As if some part of her had caught the edge of a thread and was waiting to see where it pulled.
Ahead, the architecture shifted.
