Lucavion's stride was unhurried—measured in that careless way of his that always made it hard to tell whether he was thinking too much or not at all.
The crowd at the entrance had already thinned; most of the students were either whispering about her test or pretending not to. His figure slipped past them easily, black coat catching the light in brief, fractured flashes before fading back into shadow.
Elara didn't move right away.
Her body knew she should—knew she should walk, breathe, do something—but she just stood there, half-hidden in the corridor's pale glow.
Her mind was still tangled around what she'd seen.
When he'd looked at her—really looked—something had changed. She'd noticed it, just barely, in the short span of a heartbeat: the shift in his gaze, the faint narrowing of focus, like he was seeing past her face and into something he shouldn't have recognized.
Not suspicion.
Not anger.
Just… knowledge.
