The moment she vanished behind the curtain, the hush that had filled the corridor cracked like ice under pressure.
A wave of sharp whispers rose in her absence.
"He kissed her hand—did you see that?"
"Of all the dancers—her?"
"She's not even pretty enough—look at her!"
"She's human, isn't she?"
"She's filthy. He touched filth."
The words slithered through the air like venom-tipped arrows. They didn't reach me.
I turned slowly. My gaze landed on Vivian.
She had stepped closer the second Ravyn disappeared, her hands fidgeting with the ends of her embroidered sleeves, eyes flicking from me to the dancers, then back again.
The confusion was written plainly across her face. The questions. The silent pleading for answers she didn't dare voice.
I let the silence grow thick between us. I wanted them all to squirm. To remember.
To learn.
"She did not expect me here," I said calmly, my tone carved in frost. "Her appearance was a mistake."
