The corridor stretched ahead of us like a frozen breath held too long. No one spoke, not immediately. We were walking—not rushed, not slow, just… moving. Each footfall softened by the thick carpet that ran the length of the hall, woven in pale silver and ash-grey, a tapestry of stars and tangled branches beneath our boots.
Ingrid was the first to break the hush.
Her voice arrived softly, not in volume, but in intention—low and curious, as though the idea had only just bloomed behind her eyes. “Do you think,” she murmured, tilting her head just enough to catch my profile, “if we got lost… someone might mistake us for staff still needed for the evening?”
I said nothing.
She continued, unbothered by my silence. “Or what if I spilled something on my cloak—nothing dramatic, just a little wa
