“I feel judged.”
“You are.”
“Charming.”
I step back, giving him space, but I don’t leave.
Not yet.
I watch him.
Every movement. Every shift in posture. Every flicker of expression. The way his breathing stays steady. The way his stance has changed. The way the air around him feels just slightly… denser than it used to.
He notices.
Of course he does.
“You’re still watching,” he says without looking up.
“Yes.”
“Should I perform something impressive?”
“Just don’t bleed again.”
“No promises.”
He resumes chopping.
This time, the blade moves cleanly, controlled, precise. No slips. No mistakes. No more blood.
But I don’t miss the way his shadow lags a fraction behind one of his movements.
Barely.
Almost nothing.
Enough.
Later, I find Rhazek inside.
He’s in the study again, because of course he is, standing near the window with that same stillness that means he’s already aware of everything and is simply waiting for confirmation.
I close the door behind me.
“He healed,” I say.
Rhazek doesn’t turn immediately. “Yes.”
“You felt it.”
“Yes.”
I step closer. “It wasn’t normal.”
“No.”
“His eyes—” I stop, gather the memory. “They flashed gold.”
