Mikhailis straightened but didn't move away. For a beat, he simply let the stillness settle. He could have stood there all night.
Instead he lowered himself onto the mattress's edge, mindful of every creak. His fingers hovered just above hers, close enough to feel heat but not to disturb. The jasmine from his cup lingered on his tongue; the sweetness mixed with a sudden metallic tang of unease.
The itch arrived—subtle as a spider crossing skin. First a prickle at the base of his neck, then a murmur down his spine. Instinct, old as childhood disasters in half-finished labs, whispered that silence could lie.
He swept the chamber with a gaze sharpened by years of insect study. Walls, windows, rune lattice in the floor—nothing flashed abnormal. The ward crystals glowed steady, their pale light doing the slow pulse of undisturbed circuits. Even the faint signature of chimera-ant sentries sleeping in vents read calm on his inner map. No irregular pings, no unauthorized mana spikes.
