The name did not settle softly between them, for it struck with the quiet force of something buried too deeply to be spoken aloud, and Elara remained seated across from Alexander while the elegant stillness of the restaurant seemed to warp faintly around her, her fingers tightening slowly against the edge of the table as a memory long sealed began to fracture its way back into her awareness.
The light shifted.
The air grew heavier.
And for a fleeting moment—
She was no longer there.
"…you knew my father," Elara said quietly, though her voice carried a tremor she could not fully conceal, her gaze lifting toward him with a sharpness that bordered on accusation while her breath slowed unevenly, "…don't lie to me," she added after a faint pause, "…not about him," she finished softly.
Alexander did not look surprised.
Not even slightly.
If anything—
Something within his expression softened faintly, though it did not erase the weight behind his eyes.
