Elara learned that public silence was different from private silence.
In public, silence was performance. It was posture, timing, restraint. It was knowing when to lower her gaze and when to lift her chin just enough to be seen without inviting questions. Standing beside Elliot under the weight of cameras and polite smiles, she understood that every inch of space between them had been calculated long before she arrived.
His hand at her back never shifted.
It didn’t tighten.
It didn’t soften.
It was simply there, a constant reminder of alignment rather than affection.
“You did well,” he said quietly as they stepped into the car, the doors closing them off from the noise outside.
She loosened her shoulders only after the windows darkened.
“I didn’t say anything,” she replied.
“That
