The familiar hum of her doorwatch glyph welcomed her the moment she turned the key. The faint blue line pulsed once on the frame. Steady, unbroken.
Everything was exactly as she’d left it. The lowest drawer on the desk still open. Several papers scattered, others slanted on the table, halfway abandoned mid-thought.
Returning here felt... surreal.
As if the room had been frozen in place, waiting. As if everything since yesterday’s report had been nothing but a fever dream. Caustic, the chase, the wall tower, the night under the stars. Fleeting. Temporary. Unreal.
Kion had said there would be no summon today. She wasn’t sure if she believed him. But if it was true, then she would have one long, unclaimed day. An entire stretch of hours with no orders, no eyes, no structure, to process things she’d rather skip and forget.
She closed the door softly behind her. The latch clicked, small but too loud. She turned the lock once more just to make sure.
Then she let herself breathe.
The air had that faint warmth of sealed rooms where time never really moved.
Her body wanted to rest, but her mind refused to sit still. She forced her legs to move, each step measured. The mattress dipped when she sat down. The give of it felt foreign, almost wrong after a night of soil and grass. The room shifted slightly around her, as if it, too, exhaled at her return.
She stared at the opposite wall until the blur steadied, then began her slow audit.
A checklist. A ritual. One thought at a time.
Third interrogation report, done. Whatever she’d slipped to Caustic wasn’t going to be recorded. That much was clear. She was safe.
Check.
The foreign panic when Kion was chased, fed to her through that strange link, that pulse between them. Attunement? Connection? Whatever it was, it had led her to find him.
An unknowable. Nothing would come from thinking about it further.
Crossed.
Requesting Kion to follow Caustic, mistake. She should never repeat that kind of request. Too dangerous. Too much risk of him disappearing without her knowing.
Mentally noted.
Meeting Tiran during the search for Kion. He’d accepted her reasoning, listened, escorted her out. Offered medic. Sent Knell to check on her instead of sending a pursuit.
That... counted as safe. Probably.
Check.
Her impromptu climb up the walltower. Risky. She was fairly sure no one had seen her slip through the door, but Accord had eyes everywhere—especially here, in Brandholt.
Consequences would come later, if they came at all.
On hold.
Kion’s story. How Caustic answered his question instead of chasing him outright. The Black Quill’s offer of protection. Was it true? Was it bait? Could she rely on that if she ever needed it? She didn’t know the exact floor or wing they were stationed in, only that it was somewhere within the Hall of Accordance. Still, maybe it was worth finding out, just in case. She’d walk past the Hall of Accordance someday soon.
A task for later.
The blood magic. Caustic’s? Someone from Black Quill? She hadn’t seen it herself, had no idea where to even begin searching. Another occurrence with no answers. No start, no end, no path to follow.
Crossed.
The Veiled’s name, Drenna. The Quill woman’s name, Pious. Names that would never pass her lips. Filed away. Internal use only.
Noted.
Knell’s bread. Still good. Still warm. But the taste... the taste had changed. Long ago it used to mean-
...No.
Stop.
Let's not go there. Let's not reopen the sealed box. It was buried for a reason.
Crossed.
Kion. How he’d managed to pull her from that state. How he-
No, that was brushing too close again.
She’d processed that yesterday. The fact remained. He had waited. He had helped. He had not left. That was what mattered.
Check
Sleeping under open air, unguarded but protected. Depending on someone else’s barrier, someone else’s vigilance. That kind of safety was dangerously comfortable.
Could she let herself get used to that? Kion had said he was staying. Said he wanted her to stay, too. So maybe... maybe it was okay.
Check.
But then...this morning.
He’d said the ward on the Brandholt gate felt unfamiliar, yet he’d approached it without a flicker of hesitation. As if used to it. As if it belonged to him. And he’d told her he’d only help them stay off the radar if she stayed behind and didn’t follow. What did that mean?
Was the gate guard his personal contact? Someone he didn’t want her to know? An Accord plant? They were never supposed to be seen together. That risked a report. Yet when he returned for her, he helped her to her feet and walked with her through the gate in plain sight, and the guard hadn’t blinked. Had even nodded at him.
Why? Who was Kion, really?
She hated how she already knew the answer. Someone who would never tell her. Not while the collar still circled her neck. Not when it wasn’t even her choice to wear it.
Speaking of the collar... She hadn’t charged it last night. She probably should now. They said it could last three days, but she’d rather not test what “empty” looked like.
She tried to rise from the bed, pushing herself up. But the room tilted. The edges wavered, as if the air had thickened. Her knees buckled softly, not sharply, more like something inside her had forgotten how to hold weight.
Not dizziness. Not pain. Just... nothing left.
Her palms hit the floor, cool against her skin. She tried again, failed again. Her arms trembled. Her body refused.
So she let go, letting herself tip sideways until her shoulder met the ground. The floor was cold but steady. The boards hummed faintly with the glyph lines beneath. She stared at the underside of the desk for a long while before closing her eyes.
It wasn’t the first time. She’d gone through worse, alone. She could do that again.
She rolled onto her back.
Slowly, she reached into her pocket, pulled out Kion’s coin pouch, and set it on her ribs. Pressed her palm over it until she could feel its weight.
It’s okay.
Breathe.
It’ll pass.
Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.
Hold.
You’re fine.
You can rest today.
Nothing will happen today.
Nothing at all.
She wasn’t sure how long she drifted.
Somewhere between breath and dark, she thought she heard someone whisper her name.
A shape leaned close, shadow against shadow, then faded. It felt gentle. Familiar. She didn’t chase it.
By the time she opened her eyes again, the warmth on her chest lingered, but the dark had shifted.
The light was wrong. Too dim for morning. Too cold for noon. A thin silver line slipped through the window slit. Moonlight, not sun.
What time...?
Her eyes searched for the clock, but it was too dark to read.
Her body ached in that strange, honest way. Not from pain, but from stopping. From having finally, forcibly, stopped. Every muscle felt heavy, like her skin had just remembered gravity.
She pushed herself upright slowly, and froze. She was on the bed.
She blinked once. Twice.
She remembered lying on the floor. Had she crawled up in her sleep? No, that didn’t seem right. Her memory wavered, blurred at the edges.
The pouch was still there, pressed between her ribs and palm. She must’ve slept like that. Holding onto the weight as proof she hadn’t vanished.
The air was stale, quiet. Not the safe kind of quiet, just... empty. But the silence didn’t hurt. She was grateful it didn’t.
She’d slept through the entire day, probably. Maybe her body had decided that was the safest thing to do, to disappear for a while, undisturbed.
What now?
She remembered she’d been about to do something before her body gave out. She just didn’t remember what.
She sat up. The shadows on the wall had softened. She could feel the faint warmth of evening radiating through the bricks.
Her thoughts crawled. Then clicked.
Right, the summon. Was there really none today? She’d be late if there was. That would be a problem.
She stood carefully, hand still on the bed for balance. Her movements felt too deliberate, too slow. Kion’s pouch slipped from her grip onto the blanket. She left it there.
Her first instinct was to check the door. She walked toward it. Unsteady, but sure. Nothing had been slipped through the gap beneath it. No paper. No summons.
That was one good thing.
She cracked the door open a sliver. The corridor light stabbed through the dim like a blade. She winced, blinked rapidly until the shapes made sense. Nothing taped to the door, nothing lying in wait.
Two good things.
She closed the door gently and leaned her back against it, breathing out slow. The quiet settled again, deep and full.
What else? She was supposed to... what was it?
Her mind still felt sluggish, dragged by the weight of sleep. She didn’t rush it. There was nothing urgent. She could take her time.
The silence pressed in, broken only by the faint pulse of the collar.
Right. Mana stone. She hadn’t charged the collar in two days. That was dangerous.
She pulled the chair away from the desk and sat. For a few seconds, she simply rested her hands on her knees, waiting for her mind to catch up. Then she crouched, reached for her satchel beneath the desk, and drew out a pouch of unspent stones.
The faint blue glow painted the room in soft haze. She took one, pressed it to her collar. The light pulsed once, then steadied.
She blinked. Twice. Three times.
Only then did she notice something that didn’t belong.
A tray. On her desk. Beside it, papers neatly stacked. Her messy sprawl gone, replaced by order. And a folded sheet at the center, forming a small triangle. Kion’s handwriting, messy and unmistakable even in the dark.
She fumbled for another mana stone to use for light, held it close, and read the note attached.
Lunchbreak’s done. You looked so tired, I didn’t wake you. Don’t forget to eat. The tray might still be hot. Try not to touch it.
NB: I’ve got overtime again T_T
I’ll slip away before 21:00. Who cares about work.
A small, quiet laugh escaped her. Barely sound, more breath than voice. He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t risk slipping away when there was work to be done. But she couldn’t stop the warmth that bloomed at the thought.
She hoped leaving early wouldn’t get him flagged. Accord never liked rule-breakers, not even harmless ones.
Her gaze drifted to the tray. She set the note aside carefully, along with the second mana stones, and reached out with her free hand. The metal was warm. She drew her hand back, startled. Then touched it again.
Warm. Not hot. Or maybe it had been. Was it his magic? Or glyphwork? She wasn't surprised anymore.
Inside the tray: a bowl and a plate with two small breads. A glass of water sat farther away, kept cool from the magic’s heat. She smiled faintly. She liked her water cool. Somehow, he’d known.
She lifted the bowl and sipped what she thought was broth.
It wasn’t. Something else lingered beneath. Thicker, softer. Egg? Maybe.
Her throat tightened. She set it down too quickly, the clink rang too loud in the quiet.
She waited.
For something. For nothing. For everything she wouldn’t name.
After everything that had pounced from the past today, she wasn’t sure if other food was still safe. Better to wait.
So she watched the bowl, counted breaths. The clock ticked. The world didn’t move.
Nothing happened.
Her pulse steadied. She was fine.
She reached again, hesitated, then chose the bread instead. Safer. More certain. Just in case.
She tore a small piece, sniffed, chewed slowly.
Waited.
Still fine. Another piece.
Then another.
Until the plate was empty.
When she finally drank the water, the coolness hit sharp and clean. Her eyes flicked to the untouched bowl. The surface shimmered faintly. Still full. Still there.
She was still hungry, but... no. Not that hungry. Not tonight. Not after all the ghosts that had already been fed. Not when she’d already spent all her luck keeping the past where it belonged.
The collar pinged softly, fully charged.
She lowered her hand, gathered the scattered mana stones, slipped them back into the pouch, then tucked it into her satchel.
Then she rose, slow and quiet, and crossed to the window. The curtain swayed as she lifted it slightly. Evening poured in. A dusky amber soaked with lamplight and smoke.
Below, the streets had shifted into their nightly rhythm. People leaving work, talking in small clusters. Families gathering near food stalls. Children chasing each other past the lamps. Mana lamps glowed soft blue along the main street, older sections flickered with open braziers, firelight breathing against stone.
She watched them move. One life, then another, then another. Her gaze followed until they blurred.
She drew a long breath in and released it slowly. Everything looked so ordinary. As if nothing had happened. As if the world wouldn’t notice if she stopped. As if it didn’t care whether she... reverted or survived.
Survive.
The word surfaced unbidden. Tiran’s voice, cold and precise.
“Survive it.”
“I will.”
Would she, really? Could she keep that promise when she didn’t even know what they were preparing for her next?
Tiran wasn’t one to offer comfort. His words had always been functional, never sentimental. So what had that meant? An order? Another damn test?
Her thoughts looped until they threatened to trip her breathing again. She shut her eyes, forcing the inhale, the exhale, the rhythm.
When she opened them, the street below had softened into evening glow. She kept watching. Faces she’d never meet, laughter she’d never join. Letting herself pretend she was part of it for a few heartbeats longer. From here, the light looked gentle. Safe. She could almost believe in it.
The darkness in the room pressed closer, cool and patient. Brightness felt wrong. She didn’t want to turn the lamp on. She stood there until her reflection merged with the glass. Still. Quiet. Half-seen.
Her thoughts drifted, slow and unbidden. Could she ever step past that glass? Join the warmth, the chatter, the ease of being alive instead of merely enduring it? Share company like Kion did, like Caustic did. Talk, laugh, live?
The thought almost made her smile. Almost. Because she knew better.
Surviving was already a bar high enough to reach.
She already had Kion. Steady, orbiting near, a constant presence who somehow stubbornly stayed. Tolerating her every flaw. With promise that hadn’t broken. With warmth she didn’t deserve. That alone was a miracle.
She shouldn’t ask for more.
Not when the darkness trailing behind her still lurked for a chance to claw its way back.
Quiet, patient, waiting for her to slow down. And remind her what she really was.