"There's really nothing between me and him," Sylene insisted, flustered, words tumbling over each other. "He's my savior and… my boss. That's all."
Hilda only hummed in response—low, unconvinced—and guided him back inside with a steady hand resting on his shoulder. Firm. Grounding.
She sat down on the sofa and leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees, red eyes sharp and knowing as they fixed on him.
"Just be honest with me, young man," she said quietly. "Did you sleep with him?"
The tone was calm. Too calm. And serious.
The same tone she had used years ago—back when Mavis looked flustered and glowing, after spending a questionable amount of time in Zirron's room.
"I really didn't—and never-" Sylene started, then froze.
The hotel.
The bed.
The warmth.
His face burned instantly.
"I-I didn't— I mean, I roomed with him, but— but—" He waved his hands frantically. "We really didn't do anything! Sir Melchior is truly a gentleman, through and through!"
