The Unfinished Game

The minutes stretched on, the clink of silverware and the soft murmur of distant conversations the only sounds between them.

Zephyra's quiet composure remained unbroken, as though she were fully content with the evening's slow pace.

Arthur noticed the way she observed him, her gaze was never too intense, but always calculated. It was almost as if she were savoring the moment, every glance and every silence carrying its own weight. There was no rush, no pressure to fill the air with words, and in that, a peculiar calm settled over him.

For perhaps the two hours that had passed faster than expected, Arthur became aware of something strange, he saw not a single magicule shifting around Zephyra.