Evening settled over the forest like a hush. The trees whispered low, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled—a lonely sound carried on a wind that felt too cold for June.
Inside her quarters, Aria stepped into stillness.
Her room was small. Bare, even. A narrow bed. A battered dresser. One flickering candle on the bedside table. And beside it, worn at the edges, sat her journal. The only place she still allowed herself to speak freely.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a long moment. The silence didn’t comfort her. Not tonight.
Her satchel slid to the floor. Her body followed soon after, sinking onto the bed with a heaviness that wasn’t just exhaustion—it was everything else. The day’s weight still clung to her skin: sweat-damp scrubs, the echo of cruel lau
