Lyan stood in the upper level of the royal lounge, his eyes scanning the ballroom below. His gaze fixed on Lord Garrick, who was trying his best to look comfortable as he mingled with the other nobles. But to Lyan, it was all too obvious. Garrick's eyes were constantly darting around, as if he was afraid of being watched. His fingers drummed against the glass he held, his shoulders tense, and every so often, he would swallow nervously, like a man who had just narrowly escaped something he knew could still catch him.
"Just how stupid and more obvious can you be, Garrick?" Lyan muttered under his breath, a hint of a wry smile on his lips. It was painfully clear that Garrick had left the room for a while, then re-entered with an entirely different demeanor—nervous, shaken, and constantly checking his surroundings. It didn't take a genius to see that something was off. Lyan couldn't help but shake his head in mild disbelief. The man practically screamed "spy."
