Vesper found Aurelio on the east terrace that evening.
He wasn't pretending to be busy this time.
He was just standing there, hands braced against the railing, looking out at the city like it had personally offended him.
She didn't speak right away.
He knew she was there.
He didn't turn.
"Was that necessary?" he asked quietly.
She stepped beside him.
"Was what necessary?"
"The spectacle."
She folded her arms.
"It was a question."
"It was a performance."
"That's interesting," she said. "Because you were the only one who made it dramatic."
He turned then.
"I did not."
"You snapped a pen."
"It was poorly constructed."
She stared at him.
"Say what you mean."
He inhaled slowly.
"I don't trust him."
"That's not what this is."
"I don't trust his timing," he amended.
She tilted her head.
"You think he coordinated with extremists?"
"I think you are a symbol right now, and symbols attract opportunists."
"Or" she said evenly, "he just wanted coffee."
Aurelio's jaw tightened slightly.
"You don't find it strange that as soon as you reject a Council vote, someone approaches you publicly?"
"You're reaching."
"Am I?"
"Yes."
The wind shifted between them.
She studied him carefully.
"You don't like it."
"I don't—"
He stopped.
Exhaled.
Started again.
"I don't like not knowing your intentions."
She blinked.
"My intentions?"
"With him. With any of it."
"Why would my coffee intentions concern you?"
Silence.
He looked away again.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
The quiet stretched.
Finally, he said, more softly than she expected:
"You almost died twice this month. Forgive me if I don't enjoy watching you treat your time casually."
That wasn't jealousy.
That was fear.
She softened slightly.
"I'm not treating anything casually."
"Then why him?"
"Because he asked."
"That's not an answer."
"It is," she said. "It's just not one you like."
Behind a column near the terrace doors, Lyra whispered to Valentina:
"He is catastrophically bad at emotional transparency."
Valentina nodded solemnly.
"Painfully."
Vesper didn't look at Aurelio when she said it next.
"You don't get veto rights."
"I know."
"Then stop acting like you do."
He met her eyes again.
Something unsettled there. Not entitlement. Not obligation.
Something far more human.
"I don't want to be indifferent," he said quietly.
And that was the first honest thing he'd said all day.