-Elara Voss:
I watched Lucien stir the stew, his face as unreadable as ever, but something about the way he held himself had changed. It was small—so small that Ronan didn't notice. But I did.
He had frozen for half a second.
He had heard me.
And maybe—just maybe—it mattered to him.
The moment passed, and he went back to cooking like nothing had happened. I didn't say anything else, but I smiled to myself before turning back to Ronan, who looked unimpressed.
"You're so dramatic," I muttered, shaking my head.
Ronan scoffed. "I'm being practical. He's got all that hair in his face, it's a damn liability in a fight."
"Not everyone needs to look like they crawled out of a war zone, Ronan."
He rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter. "Whatever. You're both impossible."
I ignored him and turned back to Lucien, watching the way his hands moved. He was careful. Precise. Like he had done this a thousand times before.
"You cook a lot?" I asked.
