Lucas blinked once.
"…Wipe it?" he asked, his tone flat, making sure.
Silvara gave a brief nod. "With a damp towel."
Lucas rubbed his cheek. "I'll go ask Liona for a towel."
He had barely taken a step—
"I'll do it," Silvara cut in quickly.
Her voice was firm. "Sit down. Don't move."
Lucas stopped, then gave a small nod. "…Alright."
He went back and sat on the edge of the bed, his back slightly stiff, both hands resting awkwardly on his thighs. Why am I obeying her so easily? he thought.
Silvara stepped out for a moment.
Events moved in separate rooms and distant minds, yet all of them quietly leaned toward Voss, where small decisions were already shaping consequences no one could fully see.
Meanwhile, in a dark room—
Kuyiras was bound to a heavy chair, iron shackles gripping his wrists and ankles. His clothes were stained with dried blood, yet the cocky grin still lingered on his face.
Valeric Rosevelt stood before him.
Silent.
The air felt oppressive.
