Isolde's eyes dart nervously down the hallway, as though a secret police officer might be listening to their privileged conversation. The genuine fear radiating from her is a cold splash of reality. This is not about a bad grade or a petty social snub.
"Look, I'll be heading to the estate in a few minutes," Amias tells her, his usual impatience temporarily silenced by her clear distress. "Can you talk to me when we get home? We can meet on the terrace and you can tell me everything when we have privacy."
Isolde's face crumples for a second, before she looks up for Amias to see her eyes clouding with tears. She moves before he can anticipate it, stepping into his space and wrapping her arms around his waist.
It's a tight, sincere hug, the kind they rarely shared, the kind that spoke of true need. Amias's muscles tense for a moment, surprised by the physicality, then he awkwardly pats her back. The mate bond is a firestorm, but this small, fraternal connection is a necessary anchor.
