Azriel's Point Of View
I watched her leave.
From the VIP section, half-shadowed by dim amber lights and floor-to-ceiling glass, I had a perfect view of the restaurant floor. She didn't look back. Not once.
A slow smirk lingered on my face.
I don't know why.
That's the part that irritates me.
The city lights reflected faintly off the glass in front of me, casting a muted glow over the restaurant below. She moved through the crowd with controlled precision… head high, shoulders squared, but I caught it.
That stiffness. That slight hesitation in her step. The way she adjusted her bag across her chest like she was shielding herself.
From the world. From us. From me.
The smirk on my face deepened.
But it wasn't amusement. It was calculation. It wasn't funny. It wasn't anything. But there it was, stubborn and knowing, like my body was reacting before my mind could catch up.
Behind me, a quiet voice spoke.
"Sir."
I didn't turn.
"Yes, Elias."
