Brielle’s POV
The last place I expected to break was the supply loft.
But there I was.
Elbows on my knees, spine pressed to a crate of spare winter cloaks, trying to remember how to breathe without feeling like I’d been hollowed out from the inside.
No one was supposed to be here. That was the point.
The loft was tucked behind the mess wing, above the armory, quiet and drafty and half-forgotten except by quartermasters and early patrol shifts.
I just needed five minutes.
Five minutes without whispers.
Without doorframe carvings.
Without eyes that looked at me like they couldn’t decide if I was still Luna or already something else.
I’d told Jake we’d move forward together. And I meant it.
But meaning it didn’t erase the pressure that came with it.
Or the ache.
I let my head fal
