The room was completely still.
Noir lay curled up at the foot of the bed, unusually quiet, ears pressed flat against his head as if sensing something intangible in the atmosphere. No sound came from the halls. No wind stirred the curtains. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Elyra stood by the bed, her eyes fixed on Noel. The warmth from before was gone. What remained was calm, composed… and ice-cold.
Noel met her gaze without flinching.
"I understand perfectly what I said," he said, voice even. "And I understand the weight it carries."
Elyra didn't move.
"You know this isn't something to joke about," she said, her voice low and precise. "It's not something you say lightly."
Noel nodded once. "I know. That's exactly why I'm saying it."
Nothing moved.
Even Noir didn't so much as blink.
A storm was coming—but it hadn't broken yet.
