Celestine's POV
The moment stretches, taut as a bowstring, the air in the great hall still vibrating with the phantom echoes of the security alarms and the high, haunting notes of the violin. Kaelen’s voice rises again, the sharp edge of frustration cutting through the quiet of the now-empty hall like a serrated blade.
“What got into your head, Celestine?” he demands, hands braced against the marble railing of the mezzanine, his knuckles white. His eyes are storm-dark, fixed on me with a intensity that would wither a lesser woman. “To ask her—Serenity—to perform with you? Do you even realize what could have happened? Do you have any concept of the security breach you invited by elevating her profile in the middle of a crisis?”
I can feel it—the barely restrained tension in his posture,
