Permafrost Hollows kementári

Astier did not flinch when she stepped forward, nor when her voice broke the hush between them. Still as a snow-laden tree beneath moonlight, he listened. Measured her words. Let them settle like falling ash on still water. Her question was not sharp, but it cut. He held her gaze in silence, the pale of his eyes unreadable, icy, distant, but not unkind. There was no anger in him, no suspicion sharp enough to draw blood. Only thought, quiet and vast.
„…If you meant harm,” he began at last, voice low and steady, „you've had time enough to strike.” The Wraith could have brought her down with ease, if that had been his intent. But this was not such a moment. He didn’t soften the edges, didn’t offer comfort in his tone.
His gaze drifted from her face to the space beyond, over stone and darkness and the hush of wind through narrow corridors. Then back to her, lingering this time: „You ask why I let you stay,” he continued, slow and deliberate, „but I haven’t turned you away.”
A pause. His head tilted just slightly, something faintly amused or intrigued crossing his features, gone just as fast. „I suppose I want to see what you'll do with that choice.” Not trust, not quite, but something adjacent. Something that, if handled carefully, might one day be mistaken for it.