It had to be her.
There were too many threads, too many inconsistencies that only made sense when wrapped around the same core.
Lucavion's fingers curled faintly at his side as he walked, retracing the path from memory. The spar. The smell. The frost. Elowyn's eyes—no, not just her eyes. The way she moved. The hesitation threaded behind every strike, the resolve sharpened into every pivot.
Not Elowyn.
Elara.
After all, Reilan had turned out to be no less suspect. No less familiar. No less infuriatingly vague. And Lucavion… he prided himself on seeing through people. Through masks. Through lies.
He didn't need to be told someone's name to understand who they were.
Not when he had the Flame of Equinox.
It wasn't just for burning. Wasn't just a weapon.
That fire saw life.
Vitality.
