Nicholas~
I lingered in the grand hall, rooted to the spot as if the polished stone beneath my boots had turned to ice. The scent of breakfast still haunted the air—fresh coffee, warm bread, a trace of honey—like the ghost of a memory too soft to hold but too real to forget. Morning sunlight streamed through the towering windows in molten-gold shafts, scattering dust motes that floated lazily, glowing like embers suspended in a slow-burning fire.
My fingers were still locked around Winter's hand. Her skin was cool, steady in a way that felt practiced, but under that steadiness was something taut and trembling. It wasn't just her touch—it was the way she stood, the way her shoulders stayed squared, braced as though she was carrying the weight of her own unspoken storm.
"I… I can't. Not yet. There's something I need to tell you first."
