Arthur lingers at the door, his hand on the handle as if he's physically pained by the idea of leaving me alone.
"I'm leaving now," he says, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Please, Elanore... just rest. Don't try to force the memories back tonight."
I look at him—really look at him. The candlelight catches the deep, bruised shadows under his eyes. He looks like a man who has been through a war, not just a stressful afternoon.
"Arthur, stop" I say, my voice firm but kind. "Look at yourself. You have dark circles under your eyes that rival mine. You look terrible because you've spent every second worrying about me. I am fine now. My father is here, You can take your rest."
A small, weary smile touches his lips. "I didn't realize I looked that bad."
"You do," I tease gently, trying to lighten the heavy air. "Go. Take care of yourself so you can be strong when I'm recovered. I can take care of myself. I promise."
"Goodbye, Elanore," he whispers.
"Goodbye, Arthur."
The door clicks shut. The silence that follows is massive. For the first time since the "accident," no one is watching me. No servants, no suspicious mothers, no worried fiancés.
I lean back against the pillows and stare at the canopy above my bed. My mind is racing, sorting through the data of the last 48 hours like a high-speed processor.
I understand it now, I think, my heart beginning to thud. It's a cycle. A bridge.
Whenever I collapse in my modern apartment, exhausted from the 25-year-old worker's life, I wake up here. And when I fall into a deep enough sleep in this world of silk and poison, I wake up back in my own bed, ready for the office.
Sleep isn't just rest anymore. Sleep is the medium.
It's the portal that carries my soul across the void. If I want to see my parents again, if I want to see my little brother and make sure he's safe, I have to close my eyes. I have to leave this 'Elanore' behind.
But as I feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at my eyelids, a cold fear grips me. To trigger the jump, I have to really fall asleep. Not just a nap, but a deep surrender. In a world where my mother tried to kill me at lunch, closing my eyes feels like the most dangerous thing I could ever do.
I have to go back, I tell myself, forcing my breathing to slow. My brother is waiting. My life is waiting.
I let the darkness take me, praying that when I open my eyes, I'll hear the hum of my refrigerator and the city traffic outside, rather than the silence of a medieval palace.
The darkness is heavy—too heavy. I try to reach for the sound of my alarm clock, for the familiar smell of my city apartment, but my limbs feel like lead. My mind is swimming through a thick, purple fog.
Wake up, Sara, I tell myself. Open your eyes. You need to check on your brother.
"My Lady! Wake up! Please, you must wake up!"
The voice isn't my brother's. It's high-pitched and trembling with terror. A hand shakes my shoulder, pulling me upward from the depths of the fog.
I snap my eyes open. I'm not in my apartment. I'm still staring at the gold-leafed canopy of Elanore's bed. The room is bathed in the orange glow of the evening hearth. A young maid stands over me, her face pale and her eyes brimming with tears.
"Thank the heavens," she whispers, clutching a tray. "It is already so late. The Duke... he ordered me to wake you. He said if you did not take your dinner, if I let you sleep through the night without nourishment, he would punish me. Please, My Lady, you must eat."
I sit up, my head spinning. It wasn't just for pain; it was a sedative. It kept me under so deeply that I couldn't jump back to my world.
"Oh, it's you Lily," I whisper. "The Duke ordered this?" I ask, my voice gravelly.
"Yes, My Lady. He is taking his own dinner now. He was very insistent."
I look at the bowl of broth on the tray. My brain is screaming. I wanted to go home. I wanted to talk to my parents, to hear my brother's voice, to breathe the air of my world. Instead, I am trapped in this silk-lined cage, forced to eat another meal in a house where the walls have ears and the food is a weapon.
Why am I still here? I think, a cold knot of panic forming in my chest. I fell asleep. I followed the rule. Is the medicine blocking the bridge? Or is the time in my world moving differently?
I realize with a jolt of horror that if I can't leave this world tonight, my 'Modern Self' is just... lying there. In an apartment. Unresponsive. What if my mother finds me? What if they think I'm dead?
"I have to go back," I whisper to the empty room as Lily sets the tray down.
"My Lady?"
"Nothing," I snap, regaining my professional mask. "Leave the tray. I will eat."
As she scurries out, I stare at the window. The sun has set. The palace is entering the Night Hour—the time when the truly dark things happen.
I stare at the dinner tray, the steam from the broth rising in the dim candlelight. I'm not really seeing the food. My mind is a whiteboard, drawing lines and calculating hours.
The nap didn't work. Why?
I pick up the spoon, but I don't eat. I think back to the first time I jumped. It was late at night in my apartment. The city was quiet. Here, when I took that afternoon nap, I stayed trapped.
It's not just sleep, I realize, a chill running down my spine. Maybe It's the Night. The worlds only align when both sides are in the dark. I have to fall asleep when this world sleeps, and I have to fall asleep in the office world when that world sleeps.
My Office Brain immediately starts building a schedule. If I go back to my world tonight, I will wake up in my apartment. I'll have to go to my job, handle the boss, and provide for my parents and brother. Then, when I sleep there, I'll wake up back here for a day of royal politics and poisoning attempts.
Zero rest. Constant movement.
"I'll die of exhaustion," I whisper to the silent room. "My heart will literally stop if I don't find a gap."
I look at the heavy door. I have to be strategic.
In this place, I can pretend to be 'recovering' and demand hours of privacy to nap. In the office, I'll have to hide in the breakroom or the bathroom stalls. It's a grueling, 'Sleepless Job', but I don't have any better option than this.
I am a 25-year-old survivor who has handled double shifts before—I just never thought I'd be doing a double shift across the two different place or world.