The silence between them was thick enough to choke on.
Lorian Velmoria rose slightly from his bed, his tired eyes sharpening, the weariness replaced by a well-practiced softness.
"Selena… my dear daughter," he began, voice warm, almost trembling, "I… I thought you were lost to me. All these weeks—where have you been? How have you been? Are you eating well? Have you been safe?"
His tone was almost believable—too believable.
It might have fooled anyone else.
Selena stood still, letting him talk. She didn't give him a single answer.
On the outside, she was calm. On the inside, every word scraped her nerves raw.
She tried to remember a time when his voice had carried warmth for her.
Anything—a bedtime story, a proud smile, a father's embrace.
Nothing came. The only memories she had were filled with indifference, orders, and cold gazes.
Not once in her life had she experienced the love of a father.
