No dramatics. No sneer. Just the name.
He smiled again, this one slower.
"Of course it's him. Couldn't stay away."
The tension in his shoulders eased a little as he straightened fully, brushing back his hair with one casual sweep. His fingertips lingered near the ring at the edge of his coat cuff. A subtle pulse answered him.
"Let's make sure he feels welcome."
He didn't go for an alarm.
Didn't call the guards.
Didn't need to.
Dythrael knew.
He always did.
And Maeven? He had his part to play.
—
He turned back once, just before rounding the next corridor.
Raised his hand to the wall beside him.
Mana crackled beneath his fingertips, barely audible. Not lightning. Not flame. Something older. Carved into the memory of the stone itself.
A hidden seal flared to life, just once. Then vanished.
Behind him, deep in the chamber, the restraints flared again.
Just long enough to snap Luneth off her feet.
She hit the floor hard.
Not enough to kill.
