Caelan POV:
The council doesn’t get a rushed answer, and they don’t get silence either, because both of those invite interpretation, and interpretation is where they’ve always preferred to work.
They get precision.
I’m standing at the long strategy table after dinner when Elara joins me, the door closing softly behind her, and I don’t have to turn to know it’s her; her scent floods my senses as my body immediately relaxes.
Kieran is already there, leaning against the far wall with a tablet in hand, posture relaxed in the way that only comes from knowing the room doesn’t require more from him yet. He glances up as she steps in, nods once in greeting, then flicks his attention back toward me.
“Draft’s open,” he says. “Nothing sent.”
Good.
I gesture toward the chair beside me, but Elar
