Livia stood at the edge of the courtyard, half-shielded by the trailing ivy draped over the ancient stone archway. From her vantage point, she had an unobstructed view of the trio below, her eyes fixed on them with a burning, possessive intensity.
Lyra sat on a weathered stone bench, her head thrown back, laughter spilling freely and melodically from her lips as Xander, ever the playful one, ruffled her hair, messing up her braid.
Kyson, with his usual quiet grace, handed her a water flask, his large hand brushing her fingers, a subtle, tender gesture. It was a simple moment—a shared break after a strenuous training session, mundane and unremarkable to an outside observer.
But to Livia, it churned her stomach like a potent poison, igniting a bitter, corrosive acid in her veins.
They
