Elle's Pov
My old room has been refurnished, but it still smells like the Woodbury I remember: lavender, polished oak, and the sharp, clean scent of winter clinging to the curtains. The quilt Nana sewed is still draped at the foot of my bed, but now a gold-rimmed mirror sits on a sleek vanity, reflecting a woman I barely recognize.
I'm sprawled across the duvet, the phone pressed to my ear.
"Yes, Martha, I saw the files," I say quietly. "No decisions until I'm back. Remind them. I'm on leave, not gone. How are the kids?"
A pause.
"Alright, thank you. Take good care of them, if you need anything, call Camila, she'll let me know."
I end the call with a sigh and let the phone drop. The silence is thick, vibrating with a low-frequency hum I'd forgotten.
A soft knock follows. A young maid enters with a careful, graceful stride; gray dress, wool apron, a neat braid over her shoulder. "My lady? Nana has taken her medicines. She's asking for you."
