Lor kept his tone casual, brushing off the praise.
"Then that's good." He shifted toward the door, his hand brushing the worn doorknob, ready to slip away, or that's what he wanted them to see.
"Wait," they said in unison, their voices overlapping in the dusty quiet.
Lor paused, his back to them, a slow, knowing smile creeping across his face, hidden from their view.
He let the silence stretch, their hesitant breathing filling the space, a faint rhythm that quickened his pulse.
Then he turned, his hazel eyes wide with feigned surprise, the picture of innocence.
"Something else?"
Myra and Viora exchanged a glance, Myra's blush deepening, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, Viora's steady posture betraying a faint tremor in her hands.
The air thickened, charged with unspoken tension, the memory of their last ritual hanging between them like a warm fog.
"Usually," Viora said, her voice careful, measured, "the Light asks for something in return."
