"No evidence…."
Lucavion let the word hang between them, tasting the quiet like a pause in a duel.
Then his head tilted slightly, almost curious.
"No evidence," he repeated. The corners of his mouth twitched. "Or is it really no evidence?"
He lifted one finger. Just one.
A spark coiled into being at its tip—small, deliberate. Not bright enough to blind, not hot enough to burn, but black as ink spilled into light. The corridor's glow bent around it, shadows deepening where they shouldn't have, like the world itself hesitated.
The girls stiffened.
Lucavion smiled faintly. "Or do you three have the memory span of fish? Can't even recall what happened at the banquet?"
The braid girl's composure faltered. "What are you—"
"Don't strain yourselves," he murmured. "Even your little angel Lucien fell into the same trap, didn't he?"
