(Rose's POV)
Morning came softly.
Too softly.
Sunlight slipped through the sheer curtains of my chambers, pale gold, and forgiving, touching the edge of the desk, the arm of the chair, the untouched porcelain cup of tea that had long gone cold. Outside, the capital stirred—distant wheels on stone, voices calling, the ordinary rhythm of a world that had not shattered simply because my heart had.
I lay awake, staring at the canopy above my bed.
No dreams.
No nightmares.
Just silence.
That, more than anything, unsettled me.
Two years ago—no, even months ago—I would have woken with my chest tight, reaching instinctively for something that wasn't there. A name on my lips. A presence beside me. The ache of knowing I had chosen distance and that distance was holding.
Now… nothing.
I pressed a hand over my heart, half-expecting to feel pain bloom beneath my ribs.
It didn't.
"I should be relieved." I whispered into the empty room.
