"I brought her out."
The answer held. Incomplete. Insufficient. They both knew it. It was not an answer to the question asked. It was a deflection, thin as smoke, and it burned away in the space between them.
Thessian held his gaze. For a long time. Long enough that the square seemed to recede again, leaving only the space between them, the weight of what had been said, and what had not. The silence around them grew dense, almost solid.
Then—unexpectedly—Thessian spoke again.
"Take the child."
Marcus frowned. He already held Nyla. For a fraction of a second the words did not align. His brow creased.
Then—they did.
Take her.
And leave.
Now.
It was not instruction. It was warning. What remained at the center of the square—what was about to unfold—was not something meant to be witnessed closely. Not something that could be watched and still leave a man unchanged.
