Lucien had not moved from the desk for hours. The silver comb sat before him, untouched, its polished surface catching the faint glow of the candle. His thoughts remained heavy, circling the same wound that refused to close—Isadora was gone, not in the kingdom or any hiding place he could reach. She was beyond his world.
The sound of a door creaking open broke the silence.
"Lucien?"
The voice was soft, familiar in tone, but it scraped against him like stone on glass. He did not turn immediately, already knowing who it was. Sephrina—wrapped in Isadora's face, wearing her voice like a mask.
She stepped inside, her gown rustling faintly as she crossed the chamber. "You haven't slept again."
Lucien leaned back in his chair, forcing his features into neutrality. "Rest doesn't come easily these days."
