The western corridor was empty.
Morning light spilled through the tall windows, stretching pale bands across the worn wooden floor.
I stood at the foot of the staircase for a long moment, listening.
Nothing.
No servants.
No guards.
Only the distant sounds of Beaumont waking beneath a silence that still didn't feel natural.
The village had survived.
No one was pretending it hadn't changed.
Soft footsteps sounded behind me.
I turned.
Mara.
She carried no basket of herbs.
No bandages.
Only a small ring of old brass keys resting quietly in her hand.
Neither of us spoke.
She crossed the corridor until she stood beside me.
"I hoped you'd come."
"I almost didn't."
A sad smile touched her lips.
"I know."
Her fingers closed around one small brass key before lifting it from the
