Kai:
The morning tastes of rain before it falls. Morning breaks in bruised streaks of lavender and pewter, the kind of light that promises rain but never follows through. Perfect. A day that feels half-enchanted, half-forgotten—just what she needs.
Mist drifts across the stone courtyard as I slip through the kitchen door, boots soundless on the worn flagstones.
I raid the pantry like a thief: still-warm oat bread, a crock of honey, figs dark as bruises.
A handful of blackberries stain my fingers; I lick the juice and imagine it on her lips.
The Academy feels half-asleep, corridors lit by the cold gleam of wards.
No one stops me.
Maybe the shadows know what I’m doing and approve.
Isadora’s door is unlatched when I return.
Inside, Lucian had closed the curtains tight before him and
