The evening unfolded swiftly, each moment rushing forward like an unstoppable current, sweeping Luke along with it. The steady rhythm of small talk between Falkner and Mirela was a delicate thread, pulling them all closer toward the heart of the plan. Every glance and every exchange felt like a step closer to the tipping point.
Luke's nerves buzzed beneath the surface but stayed composed, knowing that the slightest misstep would shatter everything. Falkner had naturally eased his way into the conversation, reminiscing in a subtle, casual tone about times long past. Meanwhile, Ilyrana's presence was steady as a rock, her calm demeanour lending him silent support. The pieces were in place—now it was Luke's turn to act.
He began carefully, dipping into the flow of conversation as if merely following the current.
"You know," Luke said, casually tapping the table. "I ran into an old acquaintance today. Someone who knew Orland well."
