"...W-Was something supposed to happen?" Emory's hesitant voice cut through the silence, somehow oddly calm.
I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts. "Ah, no, it's nothing," I said, shaking my head. "I just thought you might be uncomfortable with... well, you know what I mean. But I guess I was worried for nothing."
Emory tilted his head slightly, his hair catching the dim light. His expression was unreadable, but there was no tension in his posture—no sign of distress.
Strange.
My gaze flicked to Nolan, who was now aggressively mopping the same spot on the floor, his crimson eyes narrowed in concentration—or irritation? His earlier arrogance had dimmed, replaced by something almost resembling... obedience?
No way.
What is happening here?
I suppressed a frown, glancing at Emory again.
How did the spoiled prince manage to work just fine beside Emory?
Two possibilities surfaced in my mind:
1. He used his ability on Emory.
