Elara's breath stopped—just for a moment.
The words weren't loud.
But they were sharp.
"You're not that good at lying."
She stilled, the world narrowing to the space between them. Her fingers curled tighter around the empty cup. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her gaze—cutting straight into his.
Lucavion didn't look away.
His eyes—black as ink, deep as carved obsidian—were already watching her.
Not the smug, careless kind of watching she'd grown used to from him. No. This was something else. Something quieter. Still sharp. Still damnably knowing. But quieter.
His smirk was still there, yes—but it had changed.
It wasn't the same taunting curve he wore during drills, or the lazy one he used to tease girls who flustered under his stare. It wasn't even the cocky grin he had when she called him an idiot and he agreed, just to annoy her.
It was smaller now.
Subtler.
Like something unspoken behind it held too much weight for words.
And it was familiar.
Too familiar.
