Outside the heavy oak door, where silence had reigned for two days and two nights, Corven stood.
He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t shifted from that spot.
He had listened.
To every whisper. Every broken word. Every plea that clawed its way out of Valen’s throat like a dying thing.
Corven had always been the strong one—cold, composed, unreadable.
But now… now his hands trembled, curled into fists that pressed against the wood as if to hold back the truth waiting to crash through it.
Valen’s voice drifted through the crack again, soft and shaking:
“Just one bite, Seraphine. One bite of the honeybread. I saved the biggest piece for you.”
A pause.
Then, brokenly: “Please, I don’t know how to eat without you.”
Corven couldn’t take it anymore.
He shoved the door open—wood sp
