The night stretched endlessly, the sky a vast expanse of ink and stars. The wind carried a biting chill, but Enara barely felt it. Her mind was elsewhere, trapped in the moment when Liria's blade had nearly torn through her.
She should be asleep.
She should be recovering.
But every time she closed her eyes, she saw her—Liria, standing above her, eyes cold, movements precise, merciless.
Not a trace of hesitation. Not a sliver of recognition.
It made her stomach churn.
She exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the stone balcony outside her room. The castle felt too quiet tonight. It wasn't just because of what had happened. No, something else was brewing beneath the surface.
A shift.
A storm waiting to break.
Behind her, a familiar voice cut through the silence.
"Still awake?"
Daena's presence was as steady as always, but Enara could sense the exhaustion beneath her sharp tone.
