Nero and Celis found a bench.
Not by accident or convenience, but because Nero's feet just carried them there while his brain processed approximately forty different concerns about timeline countdowns and cult conspiracies and the weird weight in Celis's expression that made his chest feel uncomfortably tight.
The bench overlooked Legendor's western gardens where evening flowers released scents that probably violated several atmospheric regulations through sheer concentrated sweetness.
Magic-infused blooms glowing faintly in the dimming light, creating ambient illumination that felt more intimate than practical.
Celis sat with hands folded in her lap.
Proper. Composed.
Like a student preparing to confess sins to a particularly understanding teacher, except the student was centuries old and the sins were probably complicated enough to require their own theological council.
"There was someone."
