Darcy deliberately restricted the range of his vision, keeping his gaze fixed within a narrow and controlled space rather than allowing it to wander freely across the banquet hall. It was not due to a lack of curiosity, nor because there was nothing worthy of observation, but rather because he was consciously avoiding the risk of seeing someone he had no desire to encounter at that moment. The mere possibility of accidentally locking eyes with Ilyas was enough to make his shoulders tense slightly, and so he chose caution over curiosity, focusing instead on the glass of juice in his hand.
He lifted it slowly, taking a measured sip as though the simple act could ground him amidst the noise and movement surrounding them.
Elina, sitting beside him, leaned in with a subtle shift of her posture, her voice lowered but filled with unmistakable concern. "So, how did it go?" she asked, her eyes searching his face. "Was he ready?"
