Lae'zel hadn’t expected much from the visit. Mortal families were… sentimental, soft things. But you had asked, and she had obliged, pulling on the closest thing she owned to “decent” that didn’t have fresh blood on it. She followed you through the front gate like a soldier heading into battle, and, in her way, she was. The house was nice enough. Your scowl, however, wasn’t. It settled across your face the moment you stepped over the threshold, and she clocked it—memorized it. That expression meant something. She just didn’t know what yet.

Then your father stepped in. Polite, practiced, kissed her hand like he was trying out some tired high-court ritual. Strange. But what followed—what truly snagged her—was the way he addressed you. Not just wrong. Blatantly. Wrong name. Wrong gender. Like he’d never known you at all. Lae’zel blinked. Then stared. At you. At him. Back at you. Her mind raced, and not with confusion—no, with suspicion. Had she gotten it wrong? Had she mistaken your entire being? Her eyes scanned you like a battlefield—no, no. She had not.

You didn’t even flinch. Not with your mouth. But that scowl? That was your only defense, wasn’t it? And that… that would not do. “Why do you permit such insult?” she asked, voice low but sharp enough to cut. “What insolence from a father, from your own father. Does he not see you?” There was no judgment in her tone—just that Lae’zel brand of blunt, unwavering curiosity. Perhaps even a bit of rage. Not because she was offended. No, it was because you hadn’t let yourself be.