They walked together through the echoing stone corridors toward the council chamber, their footsteps falling in a synchronized rhythm that spoke of their shared purpose.
But as they approached the massive, ornate doors of the chamber, Rex deliberately slowed his pace. The air here felt different, heavier, charged with the anticipatory energy of the war council waiting inside.
He stopped fractionally before the entrance, turning his head just enough to catch Elizabeth's gaze. In that moment, the mask of the partner slipped, revealing something colder, something mechanical.
"I need to be somewhere else," he said. His voice was quiet, but it carried the absolute finality of a death sentence.
Elizabeth didn't flinch. She didn't ask where he was going, nor did she question the unnatural timing of his absence.
She had learned, through months of unspoken complicity, that there were parts of Rex that belonged to no one, not even to her.
