The silence that followed the trial was heavier than the sheets of dread beginning to creep through the high windows. Inside Evangeline's private sanctuary, the air hung thick with the remnants of cold incense, mingling with a suffocating, almost audible tension that hummed in the corners of the room. Evangeline reclined against the plush velvet of her chaise, her elbow resting on the arm as her fingers absentmindedly traced her lower lip—lost in a labyrinth of cold, calculating thoughts. Her eyes remained fixed on the empty air, as though deconstructing the hidden maneuvers of an invisible war.
A few paces away stood Silver. He did not move, nor did he offer his usual irritating, playful banter. Instead, he stood as resolute as a monument woven from shadows, his sharp gaze piercing right through her icy facade, studying the faint lines of anxiety on his Queen's face.
