Maris Ellowen woke to silence so complete it felt artificial.
No footsteps beyond the door.
No distant bells.
No breath but her own.
For a long moment, she lay still, afraid that movement might summon something she wasn’t ready to face.
The room was small. Not a cell—no chains, no bars—but not a chamber either. The walls were smooth stone, pale and unmarked. No windows. No visible seams. Light came from nowhere obvious, a steady glow that never brightened or dimmed.
Timeless.
Her head ached faintly, the echo of sleep induced too quickly. She remembered the guards—polite, apologetic—telling her she was being relocated for her safety.
She remembered asking whose safety.
No one had answered.
Maris sat up slowly, feet touching cold stone. Her clothes were unchanged. Her hands tremble
