LUCY
Tavric's jaw tightens for the briefest moment before he reins it back under control. The hand at his side curls into a loose fist, tendons standing out beneath his skin, before his fingers slowly unfurl again, as though he'd consciously ordered them to relax. Even his posture shifts by a fraction, the easy warmth he'd worn moments ago retreating behind a mask of practiced composure.
"I heard about that," he says at last, stepping into the room proper, shutting the door behind him.
His voice is calm. Too calm.
"Word travels fast in this residence."
I study him for another heartbeat, the corners of my lips threatening to lift.
"You don't sound thrilled about it."
A laugh escapes him, though there's no real amusement behind it.
"I'm not." The answer comes a little too quickly, a little too evenly. His gaze slips past me, settling somewhere over my shoulder instead of meeting my eyes, as though focusing on me directly might betray more than he's willing to admit.
