Elysia hadn't meant to come alone.
She'd meant to wait until Kaelith was truly asleep until the castle had gone still, until the last servant had finished sweeping rose petals from the hallway and muttering about royal absurdity.
But her body had moved on its own, guided by something quieter than urgency, but stronger than instinct.
The corridors were dim now, lit by gentle rune-lights along the base of the walls, casting pale gold halos on every polished surface.
The storm of the day the queen's visit, the biting tension, Kaelith's delightful interruptions had passed. But the atmosphere hadn't quite settled.
Something still trembled in the air.
Elysia knew grief when it lingered. She knew how it could curl inside the bones of a place. And she knew where it was strongest tonight.
