Florian let out a slow, exhausted sigh, the sound dissipating into the thick, stagnant air of the dungeon. His eyes remained fixed on Delilah, watching closely—closer than ever—as the horror played across her aging features. Her mouth trembled slightly, and for a brief second, it almost looked like she might cry again.
'She really didn't expect that.'
It would've been funny, if it weren't so tragic.
His legs crossed with casual grace, but his heart beat steadily behind the façade. The shadows of the cold stone walls felt heavier than before, the silence louder. The air in Delilah's cell, already frigid, seemed to grow colder still—like it could sense the unraveling of something that had been tightly bound for far too long.
From the corner of his eye, Florian glanced toward Lucius, who stood still and distant under the torchlight's flicker. Ever the sentinel. Ever the shadow.
Then his eyes returned to Delilah, sharp but no longer cruel.
