"If that were true, I would have refused the offer."
The classroom turned, and Elara found she could not fault the timing.
Thalor Draycott did not enter so much as consent to be in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, blue hair falling in an immaculate line beside a face arranged around mild amusement. His eyes were a silver-gray that moved over the tiers without haste, taking inventory. The tailoring was high noble and quiet about it: dark blue silk cut so that nothing required attention and everything invited it. Students on the near benches had shifted to clear the aisle before he had decided to use it. Whether he noticed, she could not tell. She suspected he had stopped noticing years ago, the way one stops noticing a floor.
