Dydra jolted awake to pounding fists on her door, her heart racing as her eyes darted around the chamber. She traced the sound to the door and heard Oryen's voice faintly through the wood.
"Dydra, are you still sleeping?"
"Noo," she answered, rubbing the heel of her palm across her eye. She let out a soft yawn and swung her leg down from the bed.
Something felt off under her sole. She looked down and saw a black coat lying on the floor. The fabric was unmistakably fine — dense wool, tightly woven, smooth to the touch, dyed in a deep black that spoke of expensive imported pigments and careful craftsmanship. Even in the dim light, it's weight and quality were clear, the lining trimmed with silk, seems neat and precise, fit for nobility. Her eyes widened, and she grabbed it quickly, shoving it under her pillow.
Almost instantly, the door opened. Oryen stepped inside.
"How— oh, you're already awake," she said, closing the door behind her.
