Night did not release Soliana cleanly.

  Sleep came in fragments—shallow, uneven—pulling her under and pushing her back up again. The images refused to settle. Stone corridors. Red banners that never quite stilled. Names pinned to wood, curling at the edges. Hands that tightened without warning.

  She turned onto her side.

  The blankets twisted with her, then loosened again.

  Something pressed at the edge of the dream—not fear, not memory, but weight. The kind that did not belong to sleep at all.

  A sound cut through it.

  Once.

  Then again.

  Soliana’s eyes opened without focus.

  Another knock—louder now—reached her a moment later, as if the sound had to cross distance before it was allowed to exist.

  “Soliaaanaaa—!”

  The voice dragged her name out, bright and uncontained, colliding with the door as if volume alone might open it.

  Soliana didn’t move yet.

  Her body remained where it was, half-wrapped in sleep, listening.

  On the other side of the door, the noise shifted—footsteps, hurried, uneven—

  Then a dull thud.

  “What the—!”

  The sound was sharp enough to fully wake her.

  “That scared me!”

  A pause followed. Not silence—more like the brief, stunned space after impact.

  “Good,” came Flora’s voice, low and firm. “Now be quiet. Can’t you see she’s still asleep?”

  “But it’s already morning!”

  “I said quiet. You’re going to wake her up.”

  “How did you even find me anyway?”

  “Who wouldn’t? You’re not exactly quiet.”

  The exchange tangled itself in the hallway, overlapping slightly, neither side yielding ground. Anastasia’s voice remained loud even when it wasn’t trying to be. Flora’s did not rise to meet it.

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  Soliana pushed herself upright.

  The room felt dimmer than it should have been. Morning light slipped through the narrow window in pale bands, catching on dust motes that drifted without direction. She sat there for a moment longer than necessary, letting the floor steady beneath her feet.

  Another muffled sound from the hallway—fabric shifting, a small scuffle.

  Soliana stood.

  Her hand hovered near the door before touching it. The wood was cool beneath her palm. She hesitated, listening to the voices adjust themselves around her presence without knowing she was there.

  Then she opened it.

  Anastasia stood directly in front of the door, one hand clamped to her head, her expression caught somewhere between offense and indignation. Flora stood just behind her, arms crossed, posture unyielding.

  Anastasia noticed Soliana first.

  “Good morning, Soliana!”

  The words came out bright and immediate, as if nothing had happened at all.

  Soliana nodded once. Her gaze drifted sideways, landing on her mother.

  Flora’s expression shifted—not dramatically, just enough. The tension she had been holding loosened at the edges.

  “Good morning, dear.”

  Soliana’s eyes dropped to the floor.

  “G—good morning.”

  “You can go back to bed if you want,” Flora said gently. “The sun is barely up yet.”

  “What?” Anastasia protested. “She’s already awake, so why not—”

  “Princess Anastasia.”

  Flora’s voice sharpened by a degree. It didn’t need to go further.

  Anastasia fell silent mid-thought, lips still parted as if the rest of the sentence had simply vanished.

  Soliana watched the exchange without moving.

  Something about it held her still—the way her mother stood between noise and rest, the way Anastasia bristled against restraint without ever truly pushing past it.

  “I—” Soliana began, then stopped.

  The pause stretched.

  “It’s okay,” she tried again. “I—I’m awake now. Do you need anything?”

  Anastasia’s expression transformed instantly.

  “Yes!” she said, the word bursting out of her. “I was hoping you’d help me in the courtyard for some good ol’ training!”

  Flora’s brows lifted, surprise flickering across her face.

  “Why couldn’t you ask Leon?”

  “Nah,” Anastasia waved it off. “He said he had things to do when I knocked on his door. So far all I managed to invite was Roland.”

  “You dragged Roland too?”

  Soliana’s gaze shifted.

  First to Anastasia—animated, impatient, already halfway into the next moment.

  Then to Flora.

  Her mother hadn’t answered yet. She stood there, listening, weighing something unseen. The morning light caught along her shoulder, outlining her profile in quiet gold.

  Soliana watched.

  She watched the way Flora carried herself even here, even now. The steadiness that didn’t ask for attention. The way her presence seemed to settle the space around her without effort.

  The hallway felt suspended.

  “A—Anastasia…”

  Both heads turned toward her.

  The sudden attention made Soliana falter. Her eyes dropped again, shoulders drawing in slightly as if the air itself had grown heavier.

  Her hand lifted without her noticing at first.

  Fingers curled. Knuckles brushed her chest.

  The motion completed itself before thought could follow.

  “S—sure,” she said softly. “I don’t mind.”

  Anastasia’s face split into a grin.

  “Yay!”

  She reached out immediately, fingers closing around Soliana’s wrist, already tugging her forward.

  “Hey—wait!”

  Soliana’s protest came out breathless, her feet scrambling to keep up as Anastasia pulled her down the hallway, laughter trailing behind them.

  They disappeared around the corner in a rush of motion and sound.

  Flora remained where she was.

  For a moment, her expression tightened—brows drawn, lips pressed thin.

  Then the tension eased.

  Her shoulders relaxed. The frown softened, reshaping itself into something quieter.

  A smile, small and unguarded, lingered as the sound of footsteps faded.

  She turned back toward the room, the hallway already empty again.

  Morning had fully arrived.