Ramiro watched, his smirk ever-present, but his gaze sharp. He had seen enough battles—on the battlefield and in the political arena—to recognize the silent war unfolding before him.
Esteban, ever the mediator, cleared his throat. "It's been a long journey. Matilda, Catalina, your rooms are prepared. We can continue this conversation inside."
Matilda, who had been observing the exchange with quiet amusement, turned to Esteban with a nod. "Lead the way."
Catalina didn't move immediately. Instead, she lingered a second longer, holding Luzia's gaze. A flicker of something—curiosity, challenge—before she finally stepped back.
Luzia didn't look away until Catalina turned.
Behind her, Elena exhaled softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "That could have gone worse."
Luzia scoffed, rolling her shoulders as she turned on her heel and fell into step beside Elena. "That was nothing."
Elena shot her a sidelong glance. "For now."
