"Is that still the case?" she asked.
The words were not cruel.
Not loud.
But they reached him with a clarity sharper than any blade.
Lucavion's breath came in slow, measured pulls.
He pushed off the wall with one hand, brushing dust from his shoulder like it was a bothersome leaf.
Then he straightened.
No limp.
No anger.
Just that same maddening, infuriating calm.
He met her gaze.
And, softly—quietly—
He nodded once.
"It is."
Selenne's gaze didn't waver.
She stared.
And stared.
Into him—not at him. Past flesh. Past spine. As if the stars in her eyes were mapping something in him even he hadn't named yet.
But she said nothing.
No reprimand.
No praise.
Just that silence—her silence—full of meaning, full of choice.
Then—
A small motion.
Her fingers lifted in the barest of gestures, smooth and unhurried, like a ripple across still water.
She pointed to the chair across from her.
As if nothing had happened.
