The soft glow of the mana lamps painted the corridor in muted gold, glinting faintly off the marble walls and the frost gathering on the tall windows. Trafalgar leaned against the cold stone, his reflection dim and pale in the glass. The silence between them stretched, filled only by the low hum of mana conduits running beneath the floor.
Lysandra took a small step closer. Her platinum-blonde hair was tied back in a combat ponytail, a few loose strands brushing her cheek as she looked at him. The green of her eyes shimmered faintly under the lamplight, calm yet uncertain.
"You didn't answer me," she said after a pause. "How have you been?"
Trafalgar exhaled softly through his nose. "Still breathing."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "That's better than I expected."
He glanced sideways at her. "You and Father share that sentiment, I see."
"Not quite," she replied, tone even but warmer. "He sees a tool. I see a brother."
