As Alex sat there, sunk deep into the plush velvet of the extravagant couch, Nyxara's complaints gradually trailed off into silence.
The tigress narrowed her golden eyes, her ears twitching slightly in irritation.
She had been grumbling for a solid ten minutes about being cooped up in the pocket dimension, about the overly clean scent of the city, about how the Wind Clan's mana "smelled too smug," but the one she was aiming all that at… wasn't listening.
Alex's head was bowed slightly, his eyes unfocused, the shadows of the room casting soft hollows over his features.
There was no tension in his shoulders, but no ease either. His entire expression was unreadable—a mask of quiet dissonance, like someone hearing music that didn't sit right in their chest.
It wasn't the Alex she knew. Not the one who wore confidence like armor. Not the one whose silence usually held sharp edges. This silence was… soft. Distant.
Nyxara's annoyance melted into curiosity, then concern.
