The sky was the color of old bruises, slate, swollen, streaked with red. It hadn't rained, but the air felt wet, like something was bleeding just out of sight. The courtyard was still damp from the earlier burn, the scent of charred fabric and scorched stone clinging to every breath. Darren's ashes had already been swept away, but they left a shadow that wouldn’t scrub clean.
We were quieter now. Not in grief, not in reflection. Just... quieter. The kind of quiet that settles after a hard punch to the ribs. It wasn't a shock anymore. It was cold and clear.
I hadn’t spoken much since the lockdown began. The war hall still buzzed with motion, runners moving between command and security, scent hounds rotating through the east wing, internal surveillance scrubbing old logs, but I wasn’t in t
