[The Malika's Pavilion—Night—Continued]
The word lingered in the air.
"…Poison."
For a moment nothing moved inside the pavilion. Even the flame beside the bed seemed to shrink, its light trembling as if the night itself had heard the verdict.
Levin did not react immediately.
His hand remained resting over his stomach, fingers slightly curled against the fabric of his robe. His face was calm—too calm—but the silence around him had grown heavy enough to press against the chest.
Naram slowly lowered his gaze again, his hands still trembling faintly above the black metal bowl.
"…Poison, Malika," he repeated, quieter this time. "And not a common one."
Levin's eyes lifted, "Explain."
Naram swallowed, forcing his voice to steady.
"The blood did not flow with the spell." He pointed toward the bowl, where the darkened glow still flickered weakly along the runes. "It resisted the reading."
He hesitated before continuing.
