The night did not move forward.
It lingered.
As if something in the air refused to let the moment pass, refused to let the tension dissolve into something easier, something quieter. The mansion had settled into stillness, the guards outside rotating in disciplined silence, the corridors dimly lit, but inside the room, nothing had truly settled.
Vanessa remained by the window long after their conversation ended.
She had not left.
But she had not moved closer either.
The distance between her and Gale was not large, not something anyone else would notice, but to her it felt deliberate, like an invisible line neither of them had crossed since it had been drawn.
Her reflection stared back at her, softened by the glass, but her eyes were clear, too clear, carrying something she could not ignore anymore.
It wasn't anger.
Anger would have been easier.
It was something quieter.
Something heavier.
Hurt.
And she hated how easily she could recognize it.
