The moment Lucas stepped into the hall, he felt it—not pressure, not tension, but something quieter and more dangerous. It wasn't in the air or the people or the way the room moved. It was in the absence of something he hadn't realized he'd been relying on. For the past few trials, even when things were uncertain or uneven, there had still been a kind of baseline to work from. A sense that the environment itself would behave consistently, even if the outcomes didn't.
That feeling was gone.
He slowed without thinking, eyes drifting across the room as he tried to find what had replaced it. People were moving, talking, grouping the same way they always did, but none of it felt anchored. It was like watching reflections on water instead of something solid.
Tomas noticed his pace drop and frowned slightly. "You're doing that again," he said. "The whole quiet thing."
Lucas didn't look at him. "Something's off."
