Lucavion's voice faded into the air, soft as dust falling from old bookshelves.
"What a strange woman… yet somehow familiar…"
The words hung, suspended. More for himself than anyone else.
Then—
[Indeed… she feels familiar…]
Vitaliara's voice shimmered in the air beside him, low and steady. She hadn't moved from his shoulder, but her eyes—those glimmering slits of verdant gold—were fixed on the corridor where Elowyn had disappeared.
Lucavion didn't respond right away. He simply tilted his head the other way, thoughtful.
'Well, I don't make mistakes when it comes to things like this,' he thought, more defensive than he liked.
[Really? Your gut does never lapse or what?]
He blinked once.
'….'
No answer. Because that smirk, that certainty he wore like silk—it didn't feel quite so smooth now. The sensation was faint, but distinct. Like catching a glimpse of something in a mirror that shouldn't be there. Too fast. Too precise. Too heavy.
