George smiled. It was the most genuine expression Kael had seen on the elf's face. He reached out—casually, naturally—and adjusted a silver clasp in Rosalie's hair.
"Truly an artist," George murmured.
"George." Rosalie's tone didn't change. "You're performing."
"Am I being obvious?"
"The recruits are watching."
Cassian coughed.
The kind of sound that said I am acknowledging this moment and forcing you to acknowledge that I am acknowledging it.
George straightened his posture.
Rosalie's lips twitched.
"Children," she said, and the word carried no condescension, just flat description. "Please approach."
They did.
Rosalie opened a drawer and withdrew three small scrolls, each sealed with dark wax stamped with the same star-and-shield insignia from George's collar. She placed them o the stone desk with precise, identical spacing.
