"This is the door," Aurelian said, his voice low and steady as he gestured toward the darker wall at the far end of the corridor. "His office. When you're ready… it'll be here."
Elara stood still, a breath away from the polished wood, yet she made no move to touch the handle. Her eyes fixed on it, as if it might open on its own—if she stared long enough. But her mind was adrift, caught between thoughts she couldn't untangle.
"Don't doors sometimes feel like they know more than we do?" she whispered, as if speaking to the silence itself.
Aurelian tilted his head, a soft smile touching his lips.
"Sometimes. But I think some doors… they wait. They wait for something to break inside us before they open."
She didn't speak again. And she didn't reach for the door.
"Would you like me to come in with you?" "No." "Would you like me to leave?" "…Maybe." "Then I'll disappear. Like a proper shadow."
He turned and walked away, his steps barely echoing. His absence left behind a strange stillness, as if the air had been holding its breath with them—and was finally free to exhale.
---
Her room was untouched. But not unchanged.
She sat on the edge of her bed, the mirror before her reflecting more than just her figure. It reflected her uncertainty. Her hesitation.
Why am I hesitating?
He's just a man. Just a door. Just a conversation…
But nothing in Blackthorne was "just" anything.
She stared at the glass, half expecting her reflection to blink when she didn't. Sleep brushed past her like a stranger in the hall—familiar, but fleeting. Her heart wandered in the dark while her mind stood watch, alert to the weight of silence pressing against the walls.
Then—
By the edge of the mirror, something moved.
A shadow.
Not hers.
Not Aurelian's.
Not the Duke's.
No sound. No scream.
Just the room, breathing too slowly.
She didn't ask.
Didn't look.
Didn't move.
She only closed her eyes—
Not from fear.
But from understanding.
---
When they opened again, the light had changed. It wasn't morning. Not quite.
A pale, suspended hour. The kind that holds its breath before choices are made.
She stood once more at his door.
The handle looked colder now.
Her hand hovered inches from it.
Is he behind it? Is he waiting?
What kind of man waits behind silence?
Her chest rose and fell, a quiet rebellion beneath her ribs.
She didn't knock.
She didn't speak.
She only listened.
Listened as if the door itself might offer an answer.
Listened as if something beyond it could hear her doubts.
And she stood like that—
A shadow before a threshold—
Not waiting for the door to open…
But for something within her to give permission.
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See you in the shadows…
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