Serena sighed. The terrace door closed behind Annalys, leaving the air still again, soft with the faint perfume of roses.
She drifted toward the balustrade, the marble cool beneath her fingertips, the gardens below arranged in moonlit perfection — too neat, too quiet, too far from what she felt. For a moment she only breathed, drawing in the night as though it could rinse the ache from her ribs.
The evening had been unbearable — too many glances that lingered, too many smiles that hid curiosity like a blade behind silk. A month since her return, and already the weight of it all pressed against her skin. The lessons had been brutal: hold your head high, laugh when they whisper, never let them see the fracture.
But here, beneath the forgiving moon, she let the mask slip. Just a little.
The soft click of the terrace door opening again drew her shoulders taut.
