Cassian POV
Dinner in the Arcanum has never been loud.
Even on ordinary days, witches are not enthusiastic eaters. Conversations stay low. Movements stay controlled. Power does not like chaos, and the Arcanum has spent centuries learning to keep things orderly.
Tonight the quiet feels different.
Tense.
I sat across from Sarafina at the long stone table, watching the way she pushes food around her plate more than she actually eats it.
Across from her, Alistair leans back in his chair like a man trying very hard not to look like a guard dog.
Failing.
I can feel the tension in him even without looking directly at him. Wolves have never been particularly good at hiding their instincts.
Especially not when they believe something belongs to them.
Or someone.
Sarafina sighs and drops her fork with a soft clink.
"Okay," she says. "We're all clearly pretending everything is fine. I feel like we should stop doing that."
Alistair snorts quietly.
I fold my hands on the table.
