Three weeks in, and Rhea had found her rhythms.
Six o’clock training. Breakfast at seven. Office work from eight until the afternoon, broken by whatever meetings or errands the day required. Dinner at the long table with Owen and sometimes Caden, sometimes others from the senior staff. Evenings finishing correspondence or reading in the library.
It was more life than she’d had in three years at Ironpeak, where every day had been spent managing someone else’s requirements and none of her own.
Luna noticed the change. She’d grown quieter, more settled. Less like something pacing the walls of a room and more like something resting after a long journey.
We’re landing, she said one evening, when Rhea was reading in the library armchair with the fire going.
“Not yet,” Rhea said. “But maybe
