"But you were indeed correct."
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't try to stop her with force.
Just those five words.
She froze.
Her posture didn't shift, but her breath did. Slight. Caught. Like she'd just stepped from a warm room into sudden cold.
Slowly, she turned her head.
Lucavion wasn't smiling anymore.
His gaze—silver-flecked, unblinking—met hers with perfect stillness.
"I don't play games when it comes to illusions that can hurt people," he said, the air around his words oddly clear. "And Reynald Vale was never meant to be a name. He was meant to be a lens. Something people would see through—until they didn't."
He folded his hands calmly on the table.
"They weren't expecting anyone to challenge the lens. Just reflect it."
A pause.
Then—
"I shattered it."
Priscilla studied him—closely now. That calm again, but not performative. No embellishment. Just truth.
