Elias was just about to stand up, brushing down his cloak as he prepared to leave the room with Livia. But just as he moved, Livia's voice rang out—soft, even-paced, but carrying a quiet firmness that left no room for doubt:
"Tonight, I'll stay with you."
The air seemed to freeze for a moment the instant those words left her lips. Elias and Marcellus turned to look at her almost simultaneously. Marcellus frowned, a flicker of surprise and instinctive concern in his eyes. Elias, meanwhile, froze in place, a look of stunned disbelief flashing across his face.
Livia didn't shy away from their gazes. She looked directly at Marcellus, her tone as calm and rational as ever. "There are still things I haven't figured out. No matter how quickly you try to explain them verbally, it's better for me to ask directly and clear everything up. Let's settle the rest tonight—so there won't be any loose ends in the handover."
"No," Marcellus said at once, shaking his head, his expression unusually urgent. "You've already done too much today—sorting through all that information, running back and forth… If you stay up late again, your body won't be able to take it."
Elias chimed in immediately, echoing him: "I agree with Marcellus, Livia. Besides, this isn't somewhere you should be staying for long. We don't know the enemy's movements, and just because things seem quiet doesn't mean they are."
But Livia only pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. Her gaze swept over them both with unwavering resolve as she spoke slowly:
"There will be plenty of time to be exhausted later. Right now, if I don't fully understand everything, I won't be able to carry the responsibility I've taken on. And I won't be able to give everyone the clarity they deserve."
She paused briefly, then added, "As for the safety concerns—I believe the enemy won't make any moves just yet. They're likely still waiting to see how we respond next. That's the most reasonable approach. And outside this camp is General Allen's Seventh Legion—I trust their defenses. Rather than worrying about my safety…" She turned to Elias, her gaze sharp and serious, "you should return to the castle and secure it—especially the study. Don't give the enemy a chance to slip in."
Her words cut through the weight Elias had been silently carrying.
He opened his mouth, but no rebuttal came. He knew she was right. Tonight could indeed be the most crucial turning point in the entire transition. But watching her stay behind—alone, in this room—with his brother, her husband… his feelings for her, deep and unspoken, felt like dull blades carving into his heart, slow and aching.
"…I understand," he said quietly, eyes dimming for a moment as he looked away.
He knew what was more important. He knew she was doing this for the sake of the mission, without any personal intent. But knowing it didn't make it hurt any less.
As he turned to leave, Livia watched his back. For a brief second, she hesitated, as if wanting to say something—but in the end, she swallowed the words.
The door closed softly behind him, leaving just Marcellus and Livia in the quiet of the room.
Night had deepened. The candlelight flickered. The air was still, so still that they could hear each other's breathing.
But Livia didn't hesitate. There wasn't even a trace of ambiguity in the air. She sat up straight, picked up her notebook and the map, and spread out the materials they hadn't had time to go over earlier.
"We were talking about personnel distribution," she said, voice crisp and clear.
Marcellus looked at her—the focus in her eyes, the decisiveness in her movements—and a flicker of complex emotion passed through him. But he didn't show it. He simply nodded, leaned back against the headboard, and began to explain patiently.
And so, the two of them plunged back into a long discussion—like true partners, shelving all emotions and ambiguity to fully concentrate on the task at hand. Sometimes they spoke in hushed tones, sometimes debated point by point. And all the while, the night quietly flowed around them.
Outside, the wind rustled the curtains. The light danced—bright, then dim—and their voices and thoughts continued to intertwine and stretch across the stillness of the room.