The door clicked shut behind Priscilla, her echo a ghost swallowed by the chamber's silence.
Lucavion stood still for a moment, fingertips resting loosely on the edge of the chessboard. The pieces remained untouched. Illegal. True. And in that strange, wordless configuration—they felt right.
The pawn did not belong beside the queen.
But neither of them had ever asked permission.
A faint smile touched his lips, dry and unreadable.
Then—movement.
The room responded, once again, to his shifting thoughts. The light dimmed slightly, coolening to a duskier hue. A breeze flickered across the glass walls, brushing against him like a nod of acknowledgment.
'Enough symbols for one afternoon,' he thought, drawing the velvet gloves back over his hands.
Now came the other part.
The vultures.
The velvet-gloved ones.
—
