Trafalgar caught the brush of Selara's hand near his wrist a heartbeat before she withdrew it.
"Did something happen?" he asked, voice pitched low enough that no one nearby would mistake it for interest.
Selara withheld the answer. Her attention prowled across the hall, sweeping past every object to trace the bones of the place itself - the arches, the reinforced glass ribs, the mana channels braided through the pillars, the careful geometry concealed beneath all that expensive beauty. Whatever had ambushed her at the entrance was not a single clue. It was memory pressing against architecture.
"No," she said at last, the word slack of any real conviction. "He helped design parts of this place. A long time ago. Certain structural habits are hard to forget when you spent years having them hammered into your skull through lectures."
Trafalgar followed her sweep across the hall. "Your master worked on this building?"
