The carriage rocked steadily along the road, its lanterns swaying in rhythm with every turn of the wheels. Nicole pressed her temple against the cool glass, watching the moonlight spill across the fields. But her mind wasn't on the passing sceneryit was caught in Clarice's words, circling again and again like a hymn she couldn't shake.
"Do not worry, my friend. We will come out of this victorious. We have to."
Nicole wanted to believe it. She wanted to rest in the comfort of her friend's confidence, but the words felt too fragile, like spun glass ready to shatter at the first touch of reality. The Tirade. Serf's wrath. Her mother's voice in her visions. Every strand pulled at her until she felt herself unraveling.
By the time the carriage slowed before the manor gates, fatigue had wrapped itself around her bones.
