Kael didn't even realize when the play had ended.
No—he did realize. It ended the moment the heroine of the tale bolted from the stage, her sobs echoing in the hall, her dignity shredded piece by piece for the amusement of others. She had been humiliated with surgical precision, broken down until her tears became the final act.
And just like that, the performance was over.
How unfortunate.
If Kael hadn't been dragged into that spectacle, if every single gaze in the room hadn't been tethered to him as though he were some rare creature on display, he might have actually laughed. He might have clapped, leaning back in his seat with the smug satisfaction of a spectator and said, What a damn fine show.
But he wasn't a spectator. He was part of the play now, whether he liked it or not. His silence had become his armor, his stillness his only weapon. He dared not move a muscle, for any shift might draw even more attention to him.
