The air felt like it froze.
She hadn't lit the sconces further. Hadn't drawn the curtain or shifted her posture. And yet—everything had changed.
Velrosa stepped back from him only long enough to draw the heavy curtain of dark velvet across the chamber door. The soft hush of it closing sounded almost like a blade sheathing. Not an end. A beginning.
When she turned, the edges of her dress shimmered faintly in the light. Simple fabric, yes—but to Ian, it looked like moonlight folded.
She said nothing more.
Her fingers reached for him—slowly, without hesitation. The movement wasn't urgent. It was deliberate. Like someone tracing the edge of a memory long denied. Her hand rose to the blood-stained collar of his coat.
She didn't remove it gently, but she wasn't cruel either. She peeled it away from his frame like it was a second skin that no longer belonged. It hit the floor with a soft weight.
