Elara's POV
The Voice was still speaking.
But I was not hearing the words anymore. Not really. The words were still there, flowing over me like water over stones, but something else had caught my attention. Something underneath.
It was not the words. The words could belong to anyone.
It was something else.
The way he paused before the precise word. Not because he was uncertain. Not because he was searching. Because he was selecting. Choosing the exact word that would land hardest, mean most, cut deepest. I had seen people do that before. Men who measured their words, who weighed them before they spoke.
The way his hands were at his sides. Not performing stillness. Actually still. The stillness of someone who had learned it rather than was born to it. Someone who had trained himself to stand motionless, to take up no space, to be present without being noticed.
