Silas had always understood silence better than words.
It was why he noticed things others missed. The way breathing changed when tension eased. The subtle shift of weight when someone decided to stay instead of leaving. The moment a choice stopped being theoretical and became real.
He noticed it in her the morning after she touched Alaric.
Not jealousy.
Not disappointment.
Recognition.
She moved differently.
Not lighter — steadier. Like something inside her had aligned just enough to stop fighting itself. Silas saw it in the way she checked the terrain, in how her gaze lifted instead of flicking away, in the way she no longer measured herself against anyone walking beside her.
She was standing in herself.
That was dangerous.
And beautiful.
