The air around the silhouette pulsed—once. Then again.
A low hum vibrated through the corridor's mana lines like distant thunder beneath glass.
And then, the voice came, no longer hostile… but not gentle either.
"How much do you know?"
There was no malice in it now. Just curiosity—sharp and delicate, like a scalpel hovering above exposed skin.
Lucas lowered his eyes for the briefest moment. When he looked up again, his expression had changed—not smug, not arrogant.
Measured.
Wary.
Exactly the way someone should look when they knew something they shouldn't.
He let out a slow breath through his nose, as if weighing something. The silence stretched, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. Controlled. Like he was treading carefully around a name that carried weight.
"Not enough to matter."
A beat.
Then—he added, just loud enough for the figure to catch:
"But just enough… that saying too much would be the end of me."
