The space between them felt different the moment the last student had left, the classroom no longer carrying the structured calm of a lecture but instead settling into a quiet, enclosed stillness that seemed to magnify every movement, every breath, every unspoken thought. It was not the kind of tension that came from hostility or discomfort, but rather something far more complicated—something that lingered in the air, unacknowledged yet impossible to ignore.
Luca stood where she had pulled him, his wrist still faintly warm from her grip as he looked at Seraphina, waiting for her to speak.
For a moment, she did not.
Her gaze met his, then shifted ever so slightly, as though she was trying to gather her composure before saying anything at all.
"…What was that?" she asked at last, her voice lower than usual, controlled, yet carrying a faint edge beneath it.
Luca tilted his head just slightly, his expression calm, almost too calm.
