The morning light broke soft and gold across the city's old stones, but the table at the inn's private courtyard felt off without her.
Aurelian kicked at the worn flagstones under his boot, watching the lazy swirl of his untouched tea. Selphine sat across from him, back straight as always, her plate barely touched, gaze distant.
Neither of them said anything for a while.
The festival banners still fluttered overhead, whispering in the late summer breeze. Somewhere down the street, the sound of a market bell rang out, bright and cheerful. It felt out of place. Too light.
Finally, Aurelian sighed and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "She's still not coming down?"
"No," Selphine said, her voice clipped. "And she told the staff to refuse anyone at her door."
He grimaced. "Gods. Not even a note?"
Selphine shook her head. "Just that she was 'resting.' And to leave her be."
