Elariana
I wake up differently the next morning.
Not startled. Not with that immediate, tight knot of a thought about what I’m going to do wrong today. Instead, slowly—like my body is being given time to decide that it’s in a good place. Yesterday doesn’t burn. It doesn’t shame me. The memory of the first kiss is there, solid and real, but it doesn’t press down on me.
It holds me.
On my way to the training hall, I already know the children won’t be there today. Zane said it yesterday, calmly, like he was talking about the weather: today it’s just the two of us. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t get scared.
I just nodded.
That’s new too.
When I step inside, the space is empty. Quiet. Sunlight slants in through the high windows, dust drifting in the air, and the hall suddenly feels muc
