Lucavion did not answer right away. For a few heartbeats, he simply let the space between them stretch, the faint hum of the hall fading beneath a silence that felt far more deliberate than anything he had shown earlier.
The young man who had smirked so casually moments ago, who had thrown teasing lines with practiced ease, seemed to withdraw into a quieter calculation. Isolde observed him without hurry, letting her posture remain as composed as a statue beneath lanternlight.
His hesitation pleased her in a way she hadn't expected; it wasn't victory, but it was acknowledgment—an involuntary one, delicate and telling. She had touched upon something he hadn't fully armored.
She let that small satisfaction settle beneath her ribs. It was almost nostalgic. Lucavion had always reacted this way when pushed in just the right direction—going silent before he attempted to rebuild the facade he wanted others to see.
