His stride didn't falter.
But his senses—oh, they were wide open now.
The hall wasn't just light and echo and carefully arranged formality. It was a storm of watching eyes, of veiled intent swaddled in jewel-toned silk and clipped dialects. Power moved here in glances, in silence, in posture. Lucavion read it like a battlefield—no blood, no steel, but every bit as deadly.
And some eyes?
Some eyes cut.
Valeria's gaze still lingered.
Sharper now. Less inquiry, more challenge.
As if his simple presence had reignited an old duel never quite settled. Her posture hadn't shifted—back straight, chin slightly lifted—but her hand hovered near the edge of her waist, not for a weapon, but in reflex. Readiness.
She wasn't here as a noble.
She was here as her.
And that made things… interesting.
But then—something else.
Something stranger.
Two more presences.
He turned his senses toward them—but hit… nothing.
Not a wall. Not a shield.
Something far more insidious.
