The estate was cloaked in the muted gold of late afternoon, sunlight streaming through the high windows, yet inside, a tension clung to the walls like a shadow that refused to dissipate. Selara had wandered through the corridors since the morning, her hands brushing over the polished wood and marble, but her mind had remained elsewhere locked on the memory of Lyanna's words, her gaze, and the subtle change she had seen in Draven.
When she finally paused in the garden, the faint rustle of leaves around her and the scent of jasmine and roses felt almost foreign, like the world had slowed and left her behind to navigate the storm inside. She leaned against the cold stone of the fountain, letting her silver energy hum faintly through her veins, a soft, soothing pulse she used to steady herself. Her reflection shimmered in the water, distorted but undeniable the Nightborne she had always been, yet fragile in ways no one else could see.
