The door closes.
Softly.
But the sound echoes louder than it should. For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
The room still carries the imprint of the healer’s presence... her control, her precision, the way she pulled truth out of silence like it was something tangible.
And now she’s gone. And it’s just us. Again.
Wrenley sits where she was left, hands folded loosely in her lap, shoulders slightly slumped, not in defeat, but in exhaustion.
She looks smaller like this. Quieter. Like the world has taken pieces of her and hasn’t decided whether to give them back.
I’ve faced enemies twice my size without hesitation. Led wars without second thought. Spilled blood without remorse.
But standing here, looking at her, I feel something far more dangerous than any battlefield has ever given
