Zafira left shortly after the conversation ended, without drama and without forcing a sense of closure where none truly existed. There were no promises, no final words meant to seal the moment, only an unspoken understanding of what could and could not be done right now.
She knew that, for the moment, it was impossible. Not because feelings were lacking, and not because something between them had broken, but because of the houses they belonged to and the position they stood in. Even so, it didn't feel like an ending. The door between her and Trafalgar was not closed, simply out of reach.
She returned to her room on the same floor reserved for the heirs of the Eight Great Families, the physical closeness standing in quiet contrast to the distance imposed by politics. Only a few doors apart, separated by little more than stone and silence.
Inside her room, Zafira paused for a moment, not in regret or weakness, but in acceptance. This was not a loss. It was waiting.
