The pressure receded.
Not abruptly, and not completely. It drew inward, folding back beneath Valttair's control until the garden could breathe again. Leaves relaxed. Mana resumed its slow, steady flow. What remained was invisible to anyone who did not know what to look for.
Valttair straightened.
When he spoke, his voice was level, unmarked by what had passed. "Rumors have a tendency to accumulate around houses that endure," he said. "Especially those that do not explain themselves."
He did not deny her words. He did not acknowledge them either.
Elenara studied him carefully. The violence she had sensed moments ago was gone, sealed behind a familiar mask of authority and restraint. The patriarch of Morgain stood before her again, composed and unreadable, as if nothing had slipped through the cracks.
"Then I will take them for what they are," Elenara replied. "Rumors."
The distance between them widened without either taking a step.
