Elara's fingers tightened harder still, knuckles turning pale and strained under the pressure.
Long heavy seconds dragged by in absolute silence until the weight hanging between us grew almost too thick and painful to bear.
Then slowly, as if forcing herself through every small motion, she pushed herself upright and rose carefully from the edge of the bed.
I stood immediately right behind her, moving softly so as not to shatter the fragile tension further.
"Elara — wait —"
"No." Her voice came out far softer and quieter than I had expected; there was no sharp anger or cold withdrawal in it at all, only deep, troubled conflict echoing clearly in every tone.
She turned quickly away from me, folding her arms tight and protective around her own chest as she took small, unsteady steps toward the tall window where glass panes framed the dark sky outside.
