"Aldric Veltorin."
The moment the words left his lips, Draven's entire posture changed. His fingers, which had been idly tapping against his glass, stilled. His gray eyes sharpened—not wide with surprise, not openly reactive, but tighter. A flicker of something passed through them, too quick to catch.
But Lucavion saw it.
A small, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth. A slight shift in his jaw.
That was enough.
'So the name means something to him.'
Draven exhaled through his nose, his gaze never leaving Lucavion. The tension in the room had shifted yet again—not just thick, but layered.
"There are a lot of people named Aldric in this world," Draven said finally, his tone even, unreadable. "Especially in this city."
Lucavion tilted his head slightly, tapping a finger against his glass. "Maybe. But are there a lot of Veltorins?"
Draven's expression didn't shift, but something passed through his eyes—a flicker, just for a second.
