Trafalgar pushed open the tall doors, stepping back into the waiting hall of House Morgain. The air inside was heavy—soaked in tension, silence, and unspoken fear.
No chatter or arrogant laughter, none of the usual posturing of the Morgain heirs.
Just a suffocating stillness.
He had barely taken three steps in when a familiar voice cut through the quiet.
"Trafalgar."
Rivena.
Her tone wasn't warm—it never was. It carried that same unsettling softness she used whenever she wanted something from him. Her eyes tracked him with a familiarity that made his stomach twist in reflexive disgust.
Trafalgar's jaw tightened.
'Great. Exactly who I didn't want to see.'
She moved toward him with that predatory grace he knew too well.
"I was wondering where you wandered off to—"
Before she could get any closer, a figure slid between them like a shield of steel and velvet.
Lysandra.
She raised a hand, stopping Rivena mid-step without even touching her.
