"I thought he was acting alone," she said with a quiet sigh, disappointment threading her tone like frost through silk. "But it seems… you're in cahoots with him."
Duke lowered his cup gently. Porcelain touched saucer with a delicate click that sounded impossibly loud in the suffocating stillness. He didn't look surprised. Didn't look tense. Didn't look concerned. He looked amused.
He placed the cup aside, then leaned back slightly, posture loose, expression mild, as if watching an interesting play unfold on a distant stage rather than standing inside its climax.
Isolde's fingers began to curl. A reflex. A preparation. A command forming in muscle before thought.
'Not on my watch' Duke lifted one hand casually with a smile.
She froze. Completely.
