The reception hall was warm and bright.
Tall windows lined one wall, curtains drawn back to reveal the darkening courtyard beyond. Lamps hung from the ceiling, their light softened by glass shades. The sound of conversation filled the space—not loud, not quiet, but steady, practiced.
Edrin took a glass from a passing tray and moved toward the edge of the room.
Two men were speaking near him, discussing trade routes along the western coast. He listened for a moment, then offered a brief remark, nothing bold. One of them nodded automatically, replying without looking at him. The conversation continued as if the comment had risen from the air itself.
Edrin shifted.
A woman nearby was laughing softly, her fan half-raised as she spoke to a small group. He waited for a pause and offered a polite greeting. She returned the smile, inclined her head—and turned back to the others, already moving on.
It happened again, and then again.
No one was rude. No one dismissed him outright. The space around him simply adjusted, like water closing after a hand passed through it.
Across the room, a ripple of attention formed.
A young man had just entered, his arrival marked by raised voices and open smiles. Servants moved more quickly. Several guests turned at once.
"Valcere," someone said.
Lucien Valcere accepted greetings with ease. He spoke lightly, confidently, as though every exchange were already familiar. People leaned closer when he talked. Questions came easily to him. Laughter followed.
Edrin watched from where he stood.
Lucien was not loud. He did nothing to command the room. Yet the room arranged itself around him all the same.
A servant passed, carrying a tray of wine. Edrin lifted his empty glass slightly.
The servant moved past him.
Edrin lowered the glass and set it aside on a nearby table.
As the evening went on, chairs were drawn closer together, then shifted again. Groups formed and dissolved. At some point, Edrin realized there was no seat left for him at any of the small tables. He remained standing, unnoticed, unbothered.
It would have been easy to leave.
The doors were open. No one would have questioned his absence.
Instead, he stayed, watching the patterns repeat—how conversation flowed, how attention gathered and drifted, how he remained just outside every count.
Across the hall, Lucien laughed at something said in a low voice.
Several people turned toward him at once.
Edrin stood alone, holding nothing, occupying no space that seemed to mind.