AMAYA
The halls are hushed this late, washed in pale streaks of moonlight filtering through narrow windows. Every sound I make, every scuff of my boots, every soft breath seems too loud. I balance a bundle of fresh linens against my chest, the faint lavender scent clinging to my fingers, and keep moving, forcing myself not to think.
I’ve been working late more and more. It’s easier than lying awake with my thoughts. Easier than remembering the dinner, Evelara’s smirk as I picked myself off the floor, Darian’s silence like a blade pressed to my throat.
The corridor ahead yawns empty, shadows pooling in the high arches. Peaceful. Or it should be.
“You’re going to run yourself into the ground at this rate.”
I freeze mid-step. His voice, smooth, low, too calm, slices through the stillness
