The night was thick with silence, the kind that pressed against the skin, heavy and unrelenting. The ruined estate where they had set camp barely felt secure. The walls were cracked, the ceiling high and hollow, the remnants of past grandeur now reduced to dust and shadows.
Caroline sat near the cold fireplace, sharpening a dagger with slow, deliberate movements. The scrape of metal against stone was the only sound in the room. Her hands were steady, but her mind churned.
Zenia.
The name sat in her chest like a stone.
She knew Ezra was watching her. He stood by the table, arms crossed, his gaze sharp as ever. He hadn’t said much after their conversation earlier, but his silence carried weight.
"You should rest," he finally said, his voice low.
Caroline didn’t look up. "So should you.
