FAYE
Helen and I had breakfast alone.
The dining room was quiet in that early-morning way I’d grown used to since becoming Luna—sunlight filtering through the tall windows, the table set neatly, food still steaming faintly.
It should have felt peaceful. Instead, there was a strange tension in the air, the kind that sat between words and made even the smallest movements feel deliberate.
I was very aware of the empty chair at the head of the table.
Alexander hadn’t come down.
I hadn’t gone to get him either.
Part of it was intentional. Not spiteful—just… careful. Alexander had never been fond of breakfast. On most days, he skipped it entirely, choosing work over food, strategy over routine. If I went knocking on his office door now, it would feel like pushing. And after how things end
