The projection magnified, centering on them—on the space that was no longer a clearing, but a crucible.
Aurelian leaned forward, practically vibrating in his chair. "Finally..."
Selphine said nothing, but her arms crossed tighter, her chin lifting slightly in that way she always did when something genuinely interested her.
Elara?
Elara couldn't look away if she tried.
The first movement was subtle. Barely a twitch of Luca's wrist as he adjusted his grip on the estoc, still held low, still deceptively idle. The white cat on his shoulder opened one lazy eye, gave a single unimpressed flick of its tail, and closed it again.
The illusion rippled.
Elayne came in—not with a reckless lunge, but with the precision of someone who had killed enough times to know better. She blurred into three images—one directly at him, one flanking left, one flanking right—each flickering just enough that even an experienced fighter would hesitate.
But Luca—
He didn't react.
