[Ovelia's POV]
Ace and I continued to walk, but the comfortable silence from before had curdled into something heavy. Wrong.
He hadn't said a word since we left the hairpin stall. He just kept walking a half-step ahead of me, his gaze fixed forward, never glancing back to check on me. The distance between us, though small, felt like a growing chasm.
My fingers rose to touch the red rose hairpin he had bought for me, its cool metal a small comfort against the sudden, irrational flutter of anxiety in my chest. I took a deep, steadying breath.
"Ace?" My voice came out small against the festival's noise. "Should we try to find the others now?"
He didn't respond. Didn't even turn his head. Something cold slithered down my spine.
I stared at his back—the set of his shoulders. Something was wrong. The easy, protective way he usually held himself was gone, replaced by a stiffness that felt… off. The lines of his tunic were wrong. The way he moved through the crowd was wrong.
