Caelan POV;
The main hall settles too quickly.
I feel it before I name it, the way sound doesn’t fade so much as vanish, the way bodies still in practiced unison. This isn’t the charged quiet of open disagreement. It’s the measured silence of people who arrived already decided, and are now testing how much resistance they’ll meet.
I take my place without ceremony. Rourke stands beside me as agreed.
The banners along the walls stir faintly in the draft from the high doors, fabric whispering against stone. The council occupies the long table opposite us, arranged with careful symmetry. Their faces composed, postures relaxed, hands folded in ways meant to suggest patience rather than control. But beneath it, I feel pressure, dense and contained.
Elara stands slightly behind and to Rourke
