"…You…"
Lucavion tilted his head, just slightly. One brow arched, his voice rich with mockery and undertone.
"Me?"
He took a half-step forward, not aggressive—just present. The kind of presence that didn't beg for attention but rearranged the air until it was the only thing that could be noticed. The heat shifted with him, not out of deference, but out of curiosity. Even the forge seemed to lean forward.
Harlan didn't move immediately.
But his neck turned. Slowly. Deliberately.
The full weight of a smith's scrutiny met Lucavion's gaze, those pale, mana-scored eyes dragging across every detail of the young man's face like a blade measuring its scabbard.
And then—
Lucavion smiled.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Just wide enough to be a dare.
