'I thought you were gone. But if you're not… isn't that a kind of mercy?'
She reached out absently to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, the movement smooth, unthinking. Her voice, when it came again, was quieter. Not fragile—just less armoured.
"It would be nice," she murmured, eyes drifting to the garden's far path where the sun broke through the lattice in trembling patches. "To see him again."
She didn't look at anyone when she said it. She didn't have to.
Selphine tilted her head slightly, but said nothing. Her expression unreadable—but her fingers, folded in her lap, had stilled completely.
Aurelian studied her, some echo of old grief flickering in his eyes. He understood longing. The kind that tasted more like rust than sweetness. But he didn't press. He never pressed when it mattered.
And Cedric…
Cedric was still.
His gaze remained fixed on her, but there was no accusation in it. Only the weight of shared history. Of a thousand moments they never named.
