At that moment, the clone's voice echoed across the hall, laced with amusement.
"You know, it's terribly rude to ignore your surroundings. One day... that kind of carelessness might cost you your life."
---
Morca said nothing, but his silence was telling. His gaze drifted toward the clone— not in defiance, but in quiet admission. Words weren't necessary. His expression alone revealed that he had accepted the truth, no matter how reluctant he was to embrace it.
A breath escaped him, slow and deliberate, as he quelled the remnants of his temper. Then, steady and composed, he asked, "What happened to my eyepatch?"
Though he already suspected the answer, he asked anyway. Sometimes the act of questioning anchored reality more firmly than assumption ever could.
