If asking Lucavion to open the door produced nothing, perhaps she only needed to knock.
Elara kept that thought to herself as they descended the final steps toward the western gallery.
Lucavion had already returned to something resembling his usual rhythm. His hands rested inside his coat pockets, his shoulders had loosened, and the faint irritation that surfaced during her questions had disappeared beneath an easier expression. Anyone passing them now would have found little remarkable about him.
That alone told Elara enough to abandon the interrogation.
He had given her what he could.
Or what he believed he could.
The distinction remained important.
