Flora hadn’t realized how quiet the room was until she had time to notice it.

  The door closed behind her with a softer sound than usual. No rush this time. No knock waiting on the other side. For once, nothing immediately demanded her attention.

  She stood there a moment longer than necessary, shawl still folded over her arm, listening.

  No footsteps.

  No movement.

  No small, familiar sounds.

  Soliana wasn’t there.

  Flora checked the table first, out of habit. Two cups instead of three. Bread untouched. The chair slightly askew, as if someone had climbed down in a hurry.

  “Already gone,” she murmured.

  She didn’t worry at first.

  Soliana had been restless lately — quiet in that way children got when they were content but busy with thoughts they didn’t yet know how to explain. Flora had assumed she was with Roland. Or Anastasia. Or tucked somewhere in the palace where laughter came easily and supervision was optional.

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  For once, Flora had time.

  She adjusted her sleeves and stepped into the corridor.

  Inferna moved around her as it always did. Servants passed with bundles held close to their chests. Guards stood at attention, eyes forward. A pair of apprentices hurried past, murmuring about schedules and missed rotations.

  Flora slowed her pace.

  She caught the eye of a maid carrying linens. “Have you seen Soliana today?”

  The maid blinked. “Soliana?”

  “Yes. About this tall.” Flora gestured vaguely. “Blue hair. Quiet.”

  The maid frowned apologetically. “I don’t think so, ma’am.”

  Flora nodded. “Thank you.”

  She continued on.

  Near the kitchens, she asked again — this time a man scrubbing his hands at a basin.

  “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Further down the hall, another servant paused mid-step, thinking hard. “A child? With the prince?”

  “No,” Flora said. “With me.”

  “Oh.” The servant hesitated, then smiled politely. “Then no, I don’t think I have.”

  Flora felt the smallest prickle of unease — not fear, not yet. Just the faint irritation of a plan misaligned.

  She tried again near the storage wing. Then near the west stairwell. Each time, the answer was the same: confusion, apology, dismissal.

  It made sense, she told herself.

  Soliana wasn’t meant to be here. Not really. She wasn’t assigned. Not listed. Not part of any schedule that mattered.

  Eventually, she stopped near a side corridor where two servants were reorganizing crates. One of them — older, with a scar along his jaw — glanced up as Flora approached.

  “Have you seen Soliana?” Flora asked, already preparing to clarify.

  The man tilted his head. “Who?”

  “She’s a child. Blue hair. About ten. Quiet. Usually keeps to herself.”

  The man’s expression shifted — not surprise, but recognition delayed.

  “Oh.” He snapped his fingers once. “You mean the new girl?”

  Flora froze.

  “…The what?”

  The man nodded easily, already turning back to the crates. “Yeah. Been around all day. Helpful kid.”

  He paused, as if something occurred to him. “Didn’t know she was yours.”