The attendant's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again — no sound came out until she took a stumbling step backward, tray tilting, caught it with a jerk that sent cutlery clinking, and fled — boot heels snatching at the carpet.
The door slid shut behind her with a soft mechanical thunk.
From outside, a muffled gasp echoed from her mouth.
Phei's fingers kept moving through Cassiopeia's hair in the same slow, patient rhythm — and then Eira's voice slid into the back of his ears.
"Master. She's recording you. Phone tucked against the underside of the tray. Camera angled at the door seam."
His fingers paused.
Just for a breath.
Then resumed their slow stroking through the dark waves spilling across his thigh.
A smile curled across his face — soft at the edges, warm enough to look tender if anyone had been watching but coiled around something far darker underneath.
Something patient and very so much amused cutting through the fog of the building secrets.
