Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 867: Later

”That girl. Jesse.”

The air around them shifted.

Her voice was quiet. Controlled. But something in it struck down with the weight of an unsheathed blade.

”How do you know her?”

Lucavion didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t deflect. Didn’t tease. He simply met her stare, the sound around them dulling to background haze. And for once, his expression didn’t give her anything.

Not a joke.

Not a smile.

Just... silence.

Waiting.

And Valeria... was already brimming.

Because she hadn’t forgotten the tension in Jesse’s stance. The controlled movements. The eyes like a mirror polished by grief and something older than her age should allow. Valeria hadn’t forgotten the way she’d looked at Lucavion—not with hate, not exactly—but with something more intimate.

Lucavion stayed silent for a breath too long.

Not the kind of pause that masked thought, but the kind that betrayed it. Intentional. Measured.

Calculated.

As always.

Then, with that maddening ease, he leaned just slightly back against the column again, tilting his head toward her like this entire exchange was as casual as discussing weather patterns.

”What do you mean by know her?” he asked, voice light. Almost amused. ”People toss that word around all the time.”

Valeria’s gaze didn’t waver.

”I mean what I say,” she answered, sharp and quiet. ”How do you know her?”

Lucavion blinked. Slowly. As if still pretending to misunderstand.

”Why do you think I do?”

Her eyes narrowed. ”Don’t dodge the question, Lucavion.”

He exhaled—soft, not quite a sigh. Not quite a surrender.

”Am I dodging?” he asked, one brow lifting. ”I’m just asking how you came to that conclusion. I haven’t said anything that implies I know her. What makes you think that?”

Valeria’s jaw tensed.

She stepped closer.

Not enough to breach formality. But enough to make her next words impossible to ignore.

”Something makes me think that,” she said flatly. ”And it doesn’t matter what. Just answer me.”

Her voice didn’t rise.

But it cut. Clean. Unyielding.

Because she had seen the flicker in Jesse’s expression—the one no court tutor could teach, no noble mask could mimic. That subtle, defensive pull when Lucavion had entered the room. Not fear. Not anger.

Recognition.

Old.

Deep.

Lucavion looked at her again—really looked.

The air between them shifted. Not cold. Not warm.

Just still.

And then—

He finally spoke.

Quietly.

Lucavion’s silence finally cracked—not with words at first, but with a smile.

That damn smile.

Not smug. Not cruel.

Just... knowing.

And far too calm for a man who’d just been cornered.

”A woman’s intuition,” he murmured, ”is strangely scary sometimes.”

Valeria’s eyes narrowed further, her jaw grinding behind the press of decorum. But she didn’t interrupt. Not yet.

Lucavion’s gaze didn’t waver. ”You’re right,” he said at last. ”I do know her.”

Her breath caught—ready to speak, to demand, to pry open the truth—

But he lifted a hand first, slow, casual, already stealing the tempo of the conversation again.

”And as for how I know her...” His voice dropped into that low, maddening cadence that always hinted at shadows beneath the surface. ”You’ll find out. Very soon.”

Valeria’s patience snapped like a thread drawn too tight.

”No,” she hissed. ”No more of this. You always do this. You say soon, or you’ll learn, or some other vague riddle like the world is a stage and you’re playing seer.”

Her hands curled at her sides, the fury finally pushing past her trained composure.

”It’s exhausting. And childish. And insufferably you.”

Lucavion didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

Instead—

He raised a single finger.

And without warning, gently placed it against her lips.

”Tu-tu-tu...”

The contact was featherlight, but the audacity of it—

Valeria went stiff.

Lucavion leaned forward just a breath, eyes dancing with mischief.

”Don’t pout like that,” he said. ”You won’t get any answers from me if you do.”

She drew back half a step, scowling, swatting his hand away—not hard, but enough to signal just how close he was to losing a limb.

”I won’t get an answer from you either way.”

He grinned.

”Exactly. So why pout and ruin your beautiful face?”

Valeria’s brow twitched—visibly.

”Compliments,” she snapped, ”won’t get you out of this.”

”Really?” he asked, mock innocence lacing his tone. ”They usually work on everyone else.”

She glared.

Unmoved.

Lucavion shrugged, utterly unfazed. ”Still,” he added, stepping back at last, ”I suppose it’s fair you’re irritated.”

”Suppose?”

He offered her a half-bow, maddeningly elegant. ”It’s part of my charm.”

”You’re confusing charm with arrogance,” she muttered.

”I’ve been told the line is very thin,” he replied, already turning away. ”And honestly... I quite enjoy walking it.”

Valeria exhaled sharply through her nose.

This man—

He would be the death of her.

Lucavion’s back was half-turned, as if he might vanish into the crowd again with all his riddles and non-answers, but instead of walking away, he pivoted lightly on his heel, settling into an easy lean against the nearest marble column.

He studied her.

And then, just like that, the tension of the last few moments slipped from his posture, like a coat shrugged off in summer.

”Well then,” he said, too breezily, ”since you’ve spent some quality time mingling with the Lorian nobility tonight...”

Valeria narrowed her eyes.

”...What do you think of them?”

She blinked. Once.

”That’s a sudden shift,” she said.

Lucavion smiled. ”What? I’m not allowed to be curious?”

”You’re never just curious.”

”True,” he said, entirely too pleased with himself. ”But humor me. You spoke to them. What’s your impression?”

Valeria hesitated—not because she didn’t have thoughts, but because she was now wary of being pulled into another one of his threads. Still, the question wasn’t unreasonable. And she had already spoken to a few of them this evening.

”The Lorians,” she said slowly, ”seem... cordial. On the surface.”

Lucavion raised a brow.

”But underneath that, there’s an elegance that isn’t just performative. It’s measured. Deliberate. They’ve mastered how to say very little while making it sound meaningful.”

”Mm.” He nodded along, clearly listening.

”They remind me of fencing masters who win by feinting three steps ahead,” she added. ”Their smiles don’t hide daggers. They are the daggers.”

Lucavion chuckled. ”Beautifully said.”

Valeria looked at him warily. ”You’re not writing a book, are you?”

”Only in my head,” he said, tapping a finger to his temple. ”Every day, a new Chapter titled Valeria Olarion Is Judging Everyone.”

She gave him a withering stare.

He only grinned broader.

”But more specifically,” he continued, with a casual glance toward the end of the ballroom, ”what do you think of Isolde Valoria?”

Valeria’s brow twitched.

Now that was interesting.

Her answer came slower this time. More cautious.

”...She’s polite. Calculated. Intelligent. Not easily shaken.”

Lucavion nodded again, a little slower this time. Still unreadable.

Valeria crossed her arms. ”Why do you ask?”

He blinked. ”Hmm?”

”Isolde,” she repeated. ”Why ask about her in particular?”

Lucavion hesitated. Just enough to confirm her suspicion.

Then he waved a hand lazily. ”No reason. Just curious.”

She stared at him.

Flat. Silent.

He stared back.

Innocent.

Too innocent.

”...You’re lying.”

”I don’t lie,” Lucavion said.

The words came gently. No flourish. No smirk this time.

Just a statement—quiet, solid, and maddeningly calm.

Valeria’s gaze narrowed.

She searched him.

Not the way she scanned liars at court, not the way she read nobles dressed in silk and hypocrisy.

No.

She searched him.

Because he’d said it before. More than once. I don’t lie.

He wielded omission like a scalpel, yes—wrapped truths in riddles and wrapped riddles in charm—but lies? He avoided them like poison. Or perhaps, like memory.

Still...

Her breath caught on something.

A knot, subtle and sudden, tightening beneath her sternum.

She didn’t want to admit it. Not even to herself. But it was there.

Something about the way he’d asked.

Isolde Valoria.

Valeria hadn’t missed the tone. The slow precision behind the name. The way he’d watched her speak—not distracted, not playful, but... attentive. Interested.

And that?

That irritated her more than it should have.

Why?

Why should it matter if he was curious about Isolde?

Why should it matter if his gaze lingered a little longer on someone else?

’It doesn’t,’ she told herself.

And yet—

The knot remained. Quiet. Stubborn.

Her arms folded more tightly across her chest.

But then—

She glanced at him again.

Really looked.

Lucavion wasn’t smiling. Not in that usual, crooked way. Not even the one he used to lure secrets from people without them realizing.

His eyes...

They weren’t filled with lust. Or hunger. Or anything that typically clung to a man watching a beautiful woman across a ballroom.

No.

They were deep.

Not like a storm. Not like fire.

But like—

Like shadows that remembered light.