Not blank. Not unreadable.
Vacant.
There was no one behind them.
Ashterion stilled.
He knew that look.
It was howhehad looked, once, in the beginning. Before he learned how to shut down the parts of himself that could break, before he mastered the art of survival in ways that left essential pieces behind.
He watched her, standing there, unresponsive.
Then—calmly, smoothly, said, “Isara.”
Nothing.
Not a flinch, not a flicker of recognition. She didn’thearhim. Or if she did, she wasn’t thereenough to care. Something cold curled in his chest. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’tconcern, he refused to call it that. But part of himtuggedat the sight of her, at the way she stood there, drenched in the aftermath of the torment Xyliria had inflicted, and didnothing.
He leaned against the edge of his desk in a way that might look casual, but his whole body was angled toward her.
“You should bathe,” he said, voice even, casual. “You’re making a mess.”
Nothing.
He studied her again, considering. Perhaps a push would work.
He smirked. “Unless this is a fashion statement? I must admit, the bloodied-wraith aesthetic suits you. Dramatic, not to mention intimidating as hell.”
Not even a blink.
His fingers curled against the wood of the desk.
That wasn’t good. That wasn’ther.
“Come now,” he drawled, pushing away from his perch. “If you’re going to be difficult, at least be entertaining about it.”
But his usual tactics—needling, teasing, provoking—didn’t reach her. Thattuginside him pulled tighter, stronger, more irritating than before.
It wasunacceptable, he told himself. This wasn’t what she was supposed to become. He could handle her fury. Her defiance. Her bitter words and sharp edges and relentless, irritatingly reckless spirit.
But this? Thishollowed-out thingstanding in front of him?
Unacceptable.
Ashterion stepped closer, watching for any reaction, for even the slightest shift. “Isara,” he said again, quieter now. Not a command. Not a taunt.
And still, nothing.
He couldn’t ignore this. Couldn’t smirk his way through or offer some dry remark and expect her to snap out of it.
She was gone.
He clicked his tongue, before stalking toward her. “You need to get that blood off.”
Damn it.
His patience, never his strongest virtue, thinned to a blade’s edge. He grasped her arm and guided her toward the bathing chamber.
