Aeliana narrowed her eyes. "Answer."
Lucavion's gaze lingered on her for a moment, unreadable, before he exhaled softly. A small smile touched his lips—not his usual smirk, not something crafted for amusement or show. It was quieter. Melancholy.
Then, finally—he spoke.
"Not everyone has that privilege."
Aeliana's fingers curled slightly against the table.
"Privilege of what?"
Lucavion tilted his head slightly, the dim glow of the lanterns casting shifting shadows across his face. His voice remained smooth, effortless—yet there was something distant in it. "That," he murmured, "is for you to figure out."
Aeliana's eye twitched.
'This bastard—'
He was dodging again. Giving her just enough to keep her chasing, but never enough to actually answer.
She wasn't even sure why it frustrated her so much. Maybe it was because she had caught the slip—seen the weight behind his words—only for him to once again pull away.
'Is it really this hard to make him speak? To just—say it?'
