The dining hall felt like a cathedral of glass and silence. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows in pale shards, glinting off silverware lined with military precision.
Anore sat at the long table, shoulders taut, eyes fixed on the porcelain plate before him. The smell of warm bread and spiced tea curled upward, tempting, but his mind remained snagged on the memory of Penelope's eyes, that were sharp, appraising, as though she had already picked him apart and stored the pieces for later use.
Across from him, Eiden lifted his teacup with deliberate grace, his movements so measured they almost mocked the restless tension crawling along Anore's spine.
"You're unusually quiet.." Eiden said at last, voice smooth as cooled steel. "Thinking about what I told you?"
