In the days that followed, the antechamber became the center of my new world. I arrived with Zoey before dawn; the brazier’s coals only flickered in the iron box, the pitchers were cold to the touch, and the dark paneling swallowed footsteps as if sound had to be earned. At the threshold Cassian set the rhythm: “Water in two half-jugs, ash under the fire, door on the bell, no questions in the study, do not cross the armory’s threshold.” No wasted words; that helped. Tasks fitted together as neatly as boards in a tabletop—finish one, the next presented itself.
Darius slid into the picture each morning almost without notice. He didn’t parade or clang; his presence was firm because every motion had purpose. He hung his coat in the same place, set his knife by the map table the same way, and
