Sierra
As I return to the estate, my hands still tremble. Not visibly–not enough for anyone to call it out–but I feel it deep in my core, shaking like an earthquake, like I’ve shifted slightly out of alignment with myself, and no amount of breath will fix it.
I finish my duties because I have to. But also because if I stop moving, I might replay the softness of Kaelen’s voice or the weight of his promise when he said he’d help me.
Promises from Dravens are dangerous things.
I scrub stone steps that don’t need scrubbing. I carry linens that feel heavier than they should. I avoid the eastern wing entirely, my pulse jumping every time I hear boots on stone or catch a whiff of cedar and smoke that might be him.
The estate feels different now. Not changed—but revealed. Every corridor hums
