Elara refused to give him a single piece of the truth he was fishing for.
Especially when her heart still ached with another memory—one far older than Valeria's flustered panic, one she had buried deep and kept hidden even from Cedric.
Stormhaven.
The training field.
That cold morning where the tides had risen early.
The scent of iron and frost.
And Lucavion—no, Luca—turning toward her with that same look Valeria had described.
Unorthodox.
Challenging.
Annoyingly perceptive.
Moments ago, Valeria had asked him how he knew what it felt like to fight beside Elara.
And Elara's heart had skipped—sharp, instinctive, betraying a truth she had worked carefully to contain.
'Because it already happened.'
'Because you fought with him once.'
'Because he saw you fight before he knew who you truly were.'
She had concealed Stormhaven from Lucavion. She'd even tried, desperately, to bury it beneath her own memories. But hearing Valeria ask the question…
