{Still editing}
Aira's eyes widened ever so slightly, though her hand didn't falter as she lifted another spoonful of food to her lips. Her expression remained composed—calm, distant—but beneath that stillness, something dark stirred. Whatever Zyren was planning tonight, she didn't care. Or at least, she told herself she didn't. But even as she sat at that long, gold-framed table surrounded by nobles who whispered in between bites of their lavish meal, the quiet rage rising within her betrayed her composure.
Her fingers tightened around the spoon, harder than necessary. The polished silver bent with a soft ping, the metal giving way beneath her clenched grip. Aira quickly set it down, her movements fluid, graceful, almost too casual—as if she were merely adjusting it. With delicate precision, she straightened the utensil again, forcing it back into shape before anyone could notice.
