LYRA
The silence that fell after Zeviar spoke was heavy, not the polite quiet of a room remembering its manners, but something far more profound. It was the specific, pressurized stillness of powerful people absorbing information that rearranged everything it touched. I could feel it rippling through the ballroom, outward from where Zeviar and Kael stood facing each other, reaching the edges of the room and bouncing back.
Kael recovered first. That's what men like him did; they spent lifetimes learning to regain control before anyone else, pulling the room back into a shape they could manage. He straightened, smoothing the front of his jacket with a small, precise gesture that spoke volumes more than words ever could.
"What I did," he said, his voice measured and deliberate, "I did for
