The first casualty was a name.
It appeared on a council docket that morning, written smaller than the others, easy to overlook unless you were looking for it.
Maris Ellowen.
A minor archivist. Peripheral. Harmless.
Seraphina saw it because she had learned to read what others skipped.
“Why was she reassigned?” Seraphina asked calmly, finger resting on the parchment.
The aide hesitated. “Routine rotation.”
“From the capital to the northern watch?” Seraphina pressed. “In winter?”
The aide swallowed. “The council deemed it necessary.”
Necessary.
That word again.
Seraphina folded the parchment carefully.
Maris Ellowen had smiled at her once—in the early days of confinement. Had smuggled her an extra candle without being asked.
That was all it took.
⸻
By midday, the city felt diff
