Aurelia did not sleep.
She lay on the narrow bed in her quarters long after the torches outside dimmed, staring at the dark beams overhead while the territory settled into an uneasy quiet. The silence was not peaceful. It carried the weight of unfinished things—questions left unanswered, decisions delayed only because no one yet knew how to make them.
Her wrist ached.
Not sharply. Not painfully.
Just enough to remind her it was there.
The bond beneath her skin had not receded since the trial. It did not pulse or flare, did not demand her attention the way power sometimes did. It simply existed—steady, alert, present in a way that made rest feel almost irresponsible.
As if something might happen the moment she let her guard down.
Aurelia exhaled slowly and pushed herself upright.
The room felt too small.
