The room had tilted into noise without warning.
Aline paused mid-sentence and lifted her chin, eyes narrowing toward the far end of the hall.
Across polished marble and clustered silk, a small knot of people had formed, tight enough to draw attention, loose enough to pretend it was accidental.
Aline leaned forward, craning her neck toward the disturbance across the room.
"Is that Thalverin's assistant professor?" she asked, the question shaped for its answer.
Vencian followed her finger.
He saw Roselys first, standing rigid amid a half-circle of women, her gown immaculate, her posture exact. Beside her stood another woman, close enough to invade space without touching.
"Yes," he said. "That's her."
The woman speaking to Roselys wore her smile like an ornament chosen for visibility. It was practiced, careful, and carried the faint warmth of polished metal.
