The room did not erupt after Aurelia's words.
It did not collapse into shouting or accusations, nor did it fracture under the weight of emotion. Instead, something far more dangerous settled in—the kind of silence that followed truth once it had been spoken and could not be taken back.
"That does not mean you didn't."
Her voice had been quiet. Almost gentle.
And yet it struck Valerian harder than any blade ever had.
For a moment, no one spoke. The fire crackled again, emboldened by the stillness, and the late-morning light filtered through the tall windows, painting pale gold across the stone floor. It felt wrong—this calm, this beauty—against the rawness hanging in the air.
Aurelia lowered her gaze once more, as if the effort of holding it had cost her more than she could afford. Her hands rested loosely in her lap now, no longer clenched. It was a small thing, but Valerian noticed it.
She had gone still,frozen and fearful.
