Dawn came, and I was already seated.
Not slumped over the table like the last few weeks. Not staring at maps I wasn't reading. Not pressing my hand against the mark on my chest and wondering what I'd become.
Seated. Straight. Hands flat on the table. Eyes on the door.
The melancholy had run its course. I'd given it enough nights. Enough mornings staring at an empty terrace. Enough silence where her voice used to be. That version of me — the one who sat in the dark and missed her — he was still in there somewhere. But he wasn't running the show anymore.
I was an emperor. And emperors don't get to grieve on a schedule.
Kaelon arrived first. He looked at me, paused at the door, and something shifted in his expression. Not surprise. Recognition. Like he'd been waiting for this version of me to show up.
"You slept," he said.
"Four hours."
"That's a record."
