"And barking when angered."
The words weren't loud. They didn't need to be. They curled into the room like smoke laced with oil—smoke that knew it could choke the room if it chose to.
Khaedren's stance had stiffened, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed to slits of restrained fury. But Lucavion wasn't done.
"Be careful, though," he added, voice turning quieter still, but colder—measured with dangerous exactitude. "Your master's not here to hold your leash this time."
He took a half-step forward again—not challenging, but circling.
And his eyes—black and calm and merciless—never left Khaedren's.
"You wouldn't want to cause problems that might embarrass him."
Another pause.
The silence cracked.
Not with noise.
But with realization.
Khaedren's hand slowly lowered, and for the first time in the exchange, his breath caught in his throat—just enough for his chest to still. His fury hadn't vanished. No. It was still there, coiled like a serpent behind his ribs.
