"Broad, solid—like the men carved out of stone to guard passes. I can't imagine looking like that."
Caeden's eyes narrowed. Just the slightest shift—but in a boy who moved like a mountain, it was enough to make the air tighten. His jaw flexed once, shoulders squaring as if instinct had called armor into being.
The words hung there. Not just as observation, but edged—unintentionally sharpened, perhaps, yet heavy all the same. To a man who bore his frame like both burden and pride, it was too close to sounding like mockery.
Elara noticed first. Her gaze flicked between them, reading the silence for what it was: brittle, about to fracture.
"Ahah….He didn't mean it that way…"
"Ahah…" Elara's voice slid into the silence, smooth but edged with just enough firmness to hold it from cracking. "He didn't mean it that way."
