The night air was sharp when Ahce returned home, the chill of the ballroom still clinging to her skin like a ghost that refused to let go. Though the music had long faded, its echo, the haunting rhythm of their waltz, played over and over in her mind.
Every step, every glance, every breath had carved itself into her memory, as if fate had decided she wasn't ready to forget. No matter how much she tried to reason with herself, her heart would not obey logic. Yin Feiyu was dead. She had seen the reports, the graves, the mourning banners.
And yet, as the moonlight washed over the cobblestone drive and the heavy gates of the Pentecase estate closed behind her carriage, she could still feel the warmth of his hand, the steady rhythm of his heart when they had danced.
