The girl wouldn't speak.
Not right away.
Dimitri didn't push her. He just watched her — the way she shifted uncomfortably, the way her eyes scanned the room like she'd measure every way out before trusting a single word from his mouth.
He admired that. But more than that...
He recognized something he hadn't seen in years.
Her face.
Her jaw. Her cheekbones. The slight tilt of her eyes.
It wasn't exact — but close enough to make his chest tighten.
He thought of her.
The woman who once clasped his hands and whispered, "Protect her. Promise me, Dimitri."
He had promised. He had failed.
And now this girl stood here — barefoot, angry, scared. She didn't even know who he was. She didn't even know what she'd walked into.
Or who she might be.
His voice was calm, but laced with something old.
"You're not a spy. But you are hiding something."
Riella's jaw clenched. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"Then why were you running?"
She looked away.
Dimitri stepped closer, slowly. "Who are you looking for?"
She blinked. Her throat worked. She didn't answer — but her silence was loud.
A mother, maybe.
A death. A question with no answer.
He stopped a few paces from her. Not close enough to frighten her. Just close enough to see her eyes better.
Eyes like someone he should've saved.
He dismissed the guards again with a wave of his hand. Then turned his back on her, giving her space.
"You can stay here until we understand what happened," he said quietly. "No cells. No questions. But I will find out the truth."
He left her standing there, unsure whether she was safer than before — or just trapped in another gilded cage.
And somewhere in the silence that followed, Riella touched the edge of her robe and whispered under her breath,
"Who killed you, mama?"
She didn't stay.
As soon as the guards turned their backs and the heavy door clicked behind her, Riella slipped out through a servant's corridor she'd noticed earlier — half-shadowed behind a tapestry. No one stopped her. Maybe they didn't expect her to run again.
But she did.
She ran harder than before.
Through the gates. Down the winding paths. Past staring eyes and startled maids. Her robe clung to her skin as clouds rolled overhead. The wind howled like it pitied her.
Then the sky broke.
Rain.
Cold, sharp, unrelenting. It drenched her hair, soaked her clothes, and blurred the world around her into shapes and shadows. She ran until her legs gave out beneath her. Then she fell — knees to mud, shoulders shaking.
And finally, she cried.
Not the quiet tears she had learned to hold in. No. These were raw, shuddering sobs that poured from somewhere deep — from the memory of her mother's blood, from the fire that stole her home, from the silence Chloe never explained.
"Why?" she whispered.
Why did the world keep taking?
Where was her best friend? Had she been taken too? Or worse?
Who were the men who barged into their house that night?
She curled into herself, knuckles dug into the wet earth, her vision swimming with water and grief.
Then… she felt it.
Not rain.
Shade.
She looked up — slowly.
Two boots stood in front of her. Polished, though now splattered with mud. An umbrella hovered above her, shielding her from the storm.
The man holding it was tall. He smiled.
A soft, easy smile. Familiar. Almost too familiar.
He looked like him — like the general with eyes like frozen oceans.
But this one… this one smiled with warmth, not weight. His build was leaner, his jaw less sharp, but the resemblance was undeniable.
He extended a hand to her.
"You shouldn't be out here," he said, voice calm and light. "You'll catch your death."
Riella didn't move.
"Who are you?" she asked.
The man's smile deepened, gentle but unreadable.
"Let's get you out of the rain first."