JOVANI’S POV
The sky hadn’t broken yet. The world lay gray and still — that fragile hour between the last breath of night and the first exhale of day.
I stood at the edge of the grove near the training field, fingers numb from holding the sealed parchment too long. I hadn’t slept. The letter had stayed with me all night, folded tightly in my coat pocket, its words playing like a drumbeat at the back of my skull.
She’ll need to know, eventually.
But not yet.
A footstep approached behind me, light but certain. I didn’t turn. I knew it was Maela before she even spoke.
“You look like you’ve wrestled a ghost,” she said gently, stepping up beside me, handing me a cup of root tea that steamed in the cold.
“I might’ve.”
She arched a brow, but didn’t press. Maela never demanded answers. She
