Elias
Mira worked in silence when Elias found her, the afternoon light slanting through the tall windows of the workroom and settling over bolts of fabric laid out with care. Blue. Silver. Cream. Colors chosen not for warmth, but for how they would look beneath torchlight.
Joy’s dress lay half-finished on the table. Hope’s beside it.
“You’ll work yourself into exhaustion,” Elias said gently.
Mira glanced up, offering a small smile. “Someone has to make sure they fit.”
“Mother asked for them?” he asked.
“She did,” Mira replied. “Very specific instructions.”
Elias sighed. “She always has them.”
Mira hesitated, fingers stilling on the seam. “You weren’t at dinner the other night.”
“I was on patrol.”
“I know.” She met his eyes. “But you should know—she was hard on Hope.”
Elias’s jaw
