The grip did not tighten.
That was the first thing Liora confirmed.
Her wrist remained held—firm, cold, and undeniably real—but there was no escalation in force, no attempt to restrain her movement beyond that single point of contact. It didn't pull. It didn't push. It simply remained, as if the act of holding her was enough.
And somehow—
That was worse.
Because it meant intention without urgency.
Control without effort.
Liora's fingers flexed slightly, testing again, not in resistance but in precision, tracing the boundary of what held her. The pressure didn't change. It didn't respond to her movement. It was constant in a way that felt deliberate, not mechanical.
Cairis stood directly in front of her now, closer than before, his posture rigid, his attention locked entirely on the unseen point of contact.
"Let go of her."
