Mira's brows knit together in a deep, unsettled crease, as though the words she had just heard refused to settle properly inside her mind.
The faint glow coming from the discarded torchlight flickered across her face, catching in the tension of her expression as she stared at her mistress with something close to disbelief.
"I don't understand, mistress," Mira said again, her voice softer this time, almost cautious, as though speaking too loudly might fracture something already unstable in the air between them. "How does it solve our problem?"
Seraphielle did not answer immediately. Instead, she allowed the silence to stretch, deliberate and heavy, like a thread pulled taut between certainty and cruelty.
Her gaze remained fixed on the strands of hair resting delicately between her fingers, as though they were far more valuable than anything else in the world.
