Elara's pov
I stopped just inside the doorway, my fingers tightening slightly against the edge of the shelf beside me.
"I didn't come looking for it," I said, softly. "I just didn't want to leave not knowing what he meant."
Cassian watched me for a moment, then the corner of his mouth lifted faintly.
"Curiosity," he said, turning back toward the table. "That tends to get people killed faster than stupidity."
"I've already been through worse than curiosity," I replied quietly. "I'm just tired of being the only one in this house who doesn't know why everyone stills every time a name is mentioned."
Cassian shifted and reached for something on the table. A book. It was old, older than anything else in the room, the leather worn thin at the edges, dust clinging to it like it hadn't been touched in years.
"You won't find it written plainly anywhere," he said. "Not in a way you'd understand, anyway. The elders like their stories buried under too many words."
He continued:
