Cruxius looked at Lira, his eyes calm as if the accusation passed through him like wind through an open hall. No flinch. No guilt. Just... a pause.
He turned to Ytrisia and spoke quietly, "Wear your clothes. Take a bath first."
His voice wasn't cold, nor kind. Just commanding.
Ytrisia, still trembling from whatever remnants of her climax lingered in her muscles, didn't argue. She clutched her robe tighter and bolted past him into the bathroom like a frightened animal. The sound of rushing water started a moment later.
Cruxius exhaled slowly and turned back toward the hallway.
And stepped out.
The old wooden door clicked softly shut behind him.
Lira's eyes locked with his.
And just as she parted her lips to speak—to shout, to accuse—he was in front of her.
Fast.
Too fast.
His hand clamped over her mouth before her voice could rise, pushing her back, pinning her to the stone wall with a quiet but undeniable force. His other hand braced beside her head, boxing her in.
