"There's something else," Aline said. "Something important."
Her words landed and stopped there. Her hands shifted in her lap. She lifted her eyes halfway, dropped them, and drew a breath that stalled before it filled.
Vencian watched without moving his head. He tracked the pause the same way he tracked a door left ajar or a guard who would not meet his eyes.
She opened her mouth, closed it, and swallowed. Her shoulders rose and fell once, too fast, then steadied with effort.
Vencian cleared his throat, the sound dry. The motion pulled at his side and he waited for the pain to pass before speaking. When he did, his voice came out flat, paced, worn from use in rooms where answers mattered more than comfort.
"What is it?" he said.
