The decision wasn't said out loud. It did not have to be so. After Lucien had read her last words Aria stood still a moment, watching the slight change in his face, which had settled into something more quiet, more restrained. Then again she picked up the notebook. She hesitated with her pen over the paper, but before she wrote: I want to see him. She didn't have to specify who. Lucien understood immediately.
His jaw set — not so much to the eyes of an ordinary mortal, but she had learned to read his face. That repressed silence was his version of pushing back. He took the pen. Not today. She read it, met his eyes, and waited. He wrote again, more thoughtfully: You should have time to process this first. Aria held his gaze a beat longer than comfortable. Then she took the notebook back. N
