The hall was emptying out, the air still holding the faint scent of ink and paper.
Lucien stood in the shadow of the steps, watching her walk down.
Lucien: “You went somewhere you shouldn’t have last night.”
MC: “I just walked down a road.”
Lucien: “That road… no one comes back from it.”
MC (smiling faintly): “And yet, here I am.”
Lucien (stepping closer, his voice low): “You think that’s something to brag about?”
MC: “I’m not bragging. I’m just alive.”
Lucien (holding her gaze for a few seconds, his tone softening): “Then stay that way. Don’t go to the place marked on that map.”
MC (lifting her chin): “Is that an order?”
Lucien (the corner of his mouth curling almost imperceptibly): “It’s… that I don’t want to have to collect your body.”
He reached out and pulled her coat collar higher, his fingertips brushing over the red thread at her wrist.
For a moment, his hand froze.
Lucien (quietly): “Don’t make me have to look for you again.”
She didn’t answer, just turned and kept walking.
Behind her, she could still feel his gaze, like a thin line stretched taut between them—one wrong step, and it would snap.