When his eyes returned to her, Clara felt a flush rise in her cheeks. She wanted to speak, to demand why he was here, what game he was playing—but her voice caught in her throat.
Instead, Nicholas leaned just slightly against the edge of her desk, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
“Don’t let them rattle you.”
The words were quiet, but they landed heavy, threading through her confusion, her guilt, her unspoken questions.
She blinked at him, startled by the unexpected softness beneath the command. But before she could respond, he straightened, gave the faintest nod, and turned for the door.
As he stepped out, the hall seemed to inhale again, the office resuming its hum as though nothing had happened. But Clara sat frozen in her chair, her pulse skittering, every nerve alive wit
