[Lavinia's POV—The Private Garden, After]
The garden was quiet again.
Not the brittle quiet of tension—but the softened stillness that follows truth, the kind that lingers after a storm has passed and the air hasn't yet decided what it wants to be.
I watched from a distance.
Not as a ruler. Not as a commander. But as a woman who had just witnessed something sacred.
Haldor stood with Luke—no, his father—voices low, bodies angled toward each other in a way that spoke of years lost and time reclaimed all at once. Luke's hand rested at the back of Haldor's neck, protective and familiar, as if it had always belonged there.
My chest tightened.
Good.
This was good.
Rey shifted beside me, unusually silent. Sera clasped her hands together, eyes glistening despite her best effort to hide it. Even Papa—my terrifying, blood-soaked tyrant of an emperor—stood unnaturally still, arms crossed, gaze sharp yet… thoughtful.
