The fireflies danced lazily around the clearing, their glow dim compared to the storm in Enzo's chest. He had barely turned when Princess Elowen's silhouette appeared like a silver blade cutting through the dark.
Her moonstone eyes locked onto him, unreadable. For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
"I thought I was alone," Enzo asked again, forcing a casual smile as he stepped slightly aside to block the communicator in his coat. His voice betrayed nothing—years of working with the Atlan's family had taught him how to lie with elegance.
Princess Elowen tilted her head, studying him beneath the crown of stars. "So did I."
There was a pause. Her tone wasn't accusatory. Just… distant.
"I just came to give you this," she said softly. From behind her back, she held out a leather satchel—Donato's.
Enzo blinked, surprised. "His bag?"
