Isabella had given Kian directions on exactly what she wanted to make a mirror, and while Kian made it, Luca made the wooden frame.
As expected, something that should have taken days took hours.
Kian didn't say a word as she listed the materials she wanted—obsidian, polished until it reflected like still water, with a protective wooden backing that could fold over the front like a shell.
She didn't expect a reaction—not really. Not from him. Maybe a grunt. Maybe nothing at all.
But Kian being Kian stared at her—longer than necessary. His sharp eyes, like flint under ice, didn't narrow or widen. They just watched.
The thick hide skirt shifted against his legs with every step, the weight of it heavy, rough, and worn. His long strides moved without sound, each one measured and final—like the decision he'd just made.
He didn't speak. He didn't look back.
And somehow, that silence felt colder than any blade he could've drawn.
Luca blinked. "You… want a mirror?"
