Ester was so focused she seemed to have forgotten her own breathing.
Her fingers ran along Demon's suit collar with almost military precision, pulling, aligning, checking each seam as if she were preparing not just a soldier, but a sacred artifact that needed to be flawless so as not to crack in the middle of the ceremony.
She said nothing.
Her brow was slightly furrowed, her gaze fixed on the dark tie she was trying to straighten for the third time. The proximity was inevitable: her face was just inches from his chest, and Ester's soft perfume—always clean, always cool, and always with a hint of magic—enveloped the narrow space between them.
Demon remained still like a statue.
Not that it was uncomfortable for him. In fact, Ester's precision was… reassuring. He knew he wouldn't leave there with a single button out of place.
But the silence was heavy.
