The grand hall shimmered with music—strings drifting beneath chandeliers while councilors and scholars moved in practiced elegance.

Viktor sat just beyond it all. A velvet bench near a column. Crutch resting between his knees. Posture precise, expression quieter than the room allowed. He watched the dancers as if studying a phenomenon, not participating in it.

A small shift of weight sent a dull ache through his leg. He ignored it. “Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath.

The celebration was meant to ease tensions. Instead, it only emphasized distance—between motion and stillness, ease and effort, belonging and observation. Viktor adjusted his grip on the crutch, gaze drifting toward the balcony doors and the promise of silence beyond them.

He didn’t move. Not because he couldn’t join them. But because he had long since learned where he fit in rooms like this.

Still, as he watched the crowd turn and laugh beneath the light, a quiet thought lingered. That somewhere in all this motion, there might be another person standing just as still.