"Hello."
The word was simple. Polite. Entirely unbothered.
And for Elara, it was the final piece.
If he were irritated, he would not greet Isolde like that.
If he disliked her presence, he would not soften his tone.
If he saw her as an enemy, he would not look at her with that measured ease.
'They're just acting.'
'They've always acted well together.'
Isolde responded with that gentle, graceful gesture Elara remembered all too well—the slight tilt of the chin, the soft curve of fingers, the demure sweep of hair behind one shoulder. A movement crafted for effect.
"May I sit here, Mister Lucavion?"
Her tone was lilting, warm, even deferential in a way that made several students blink.
Elara almost scoffed aloud.
Isolde never deferred to anyone unless she wanted something.
Lucavion chuckled under his breath. "Feel free to do so, Miss…"
His voice trailed expectantly, though the question felt performative rather than genuine.
