Cain had not understood why the words had left his mouth the moment they did.
He had never met that subordinate before. He had no reason to speak to them, no reason to acknowledge them beyond the bare minimum. And yet, when their eyes met, something old and half buried had stirred inside him.
It was not recognition. Not truly.
It was resemblance.
As they walked away, Cain's thoughts drifted backward, unbidden, to memories he rarely allowed himself to linger on.
The maid who had served him when he was young had been quiet. Too quiet, now that he thought about it. She moved through the halls like a shadow, efficient and precise, never lingering longer than necessary. She never raised her voice, never complained, never sought favor. But when she thought no one was watching, there had been a sharpness in her eyes that did not belong to a servant.
