𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐥
Ilya's eyes darkened, returning to their normal deep blue as that strange, prophetic quality vanished, replaced instantly by his usual controlled composure. He straightened slightly, the subtle shift in his posture suggesting he realized he had said—or perhaps revealed—too much.
"I apologize, High Alpha," he said. "I got carried away."
My eyes narrowed as I attempted to decipher exactly what was happening behind that calm facade. "Is there something you want to share, Ilya?" My voice was sharp, a warning in itself.
"No, High Alpha," he replied, his expression remaining unreadable. "It is merely fatigue, and I assure you it won't affect my duties."
I held his gaze for a long moment, but he didn't flinch or offer any further elaboration. Whatever he was hiding, he clearly had no intention of sharing it now. I would have to watch him closely—very closely.
"See that it doesn't," I said finally, breaking the silence.
"Yes, High Alpha."
