Mariana's glare could have sliced through wind itself. Her jaw was set like carved marble as she exhaled sharply through her nose, then pointed to the empty seat beside her.
"Since you're here already," she said in that calm yet cutting tone of hers, "you might as well learn. Someday, the place I stand will be yours, and you will judge the offenders of this temple."
Luther raised a brow, his lips twitching upward. "I'll make sure to bring snacks when that day comes," he muttered under his breath, earning a quiet snort from the sword hanging at his hip.
Mariana's eyes snapped toward him.
"Did you say something?"
"Only that I'll… learn diligently, my dear master."
"Hm." Her eyes narrowed, but she turned away.
He followed her gesture and walked to the stand, settling beside her while Father Seraphon occupied the right side. The atmosphere was heavy — the kind that clung to the skin like cold mist before a storm.
