Luke stood in silence, Ilyrana's words echoing in his mind like a drumbeat. The conversation had left him feeling unmoored as if the ground beneath him had shifted. For the first time in a long while, he wasn't sure where he stood—what he was supposed to be. He had tried to explain, to make her understand that he wasn't a mage, that everything he did was a clever trick, a sleight of hand. But the way she looked at him, the certainty in her voice, made him question everything he thought he knew.
The room grew quiet, the only sound the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth. Luke felt the silence pressing down on him, thick and heavy, amplifying the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. His gaze drifted to the floor, and he could feel Ilyrana watching him, though she said nothing.
Finally, he cleared his throat, the sound breaking through the tension that had settled between them.
