Elena didn't remember how long she'd wandered.
She only remembered the moment she realized she had lost all four Sentinels.
Eris had been the first to notice she was walking slightly too quickly.The second Sentinel noticed when she turned down a servant's corridor.The third tripped over a laundry basket she definitely did not nudge into his path.And the fourth—
Well.
She closed a door behind her and heard a soft thud as he ran directly into it.
After that, she slipped through a side passage Claire once showed her—one the Sentinels didn't know existed.
And she didn't stop walking.
Her feet carried her through empty hallways, past frost-rimmed windows, until she ended up near one of the lesser council rooms.
The door was cracked.
Voices drifted out.
One of them—
Him.
Soren's low, controlled tone slid through the gap in the door like a blade.
Elena stopped.
She shouldn't listen. She knew she shouldn't. But she didn't move.
Myrene's voice softened into something almost sympathetic — and all the more dangerous for it.
"She is foreign. Untutored. Of no standing. An unverified factor in an already delicate political landscape."A pause."The envoy had every right to raise concerns."
Another beat.
"And after what happened at the border," Myrene added lightly, "those concerns are no longer theoretical."
Elena stilled.
Soren's voice was low. "Be precise."
A faint smile crept into Myrene's tone."The object recovered from the eastern ridge — the one your Sentinels brought back two days ago — reacted again."
Elena's breath caught.
"Not fully," Myrene continued. "But noticeably. Heat. Resonance. Enough that the scholars are… unsettled."
Silence.
Then Soren said carefully, "It has been dormant for centuries."
"Yes," Myrene replied. "Until now."
Elena's pulse thundered.
Myrene went on, unhurried. "Which makes your guest an inconvenience of unfortunate timing. Or…"A pause, thoughtful."…a catalyst."
Elena's hand tightened against the stone.
"She is under my protection," Soren said.
The words still landed — but differently now.
Myrene's reply was swift, composed. "Oversight, Highness. Containment. Prudence."
She exhaled softly. "The council will require she be relocated somewhere secure. Somewhere controlled. Until we understand why old things wake when she enters our lands."
Relocated.Controlled.
Elena's stomach turned cold.
"You are too valuable to the North to risk sentiment," Myrene said gently. "Attachment clouds judgment. And if she truly is connected to the Rift—"
A pause.
"You will not be permitted to choose."
Elena waited.
For him to argue.To lie.To fight.
Instead—
"You're right," Soren said.
The words were quiet. Final.
Myrene hummed, satisfied."You have always known when to be cold."
Elena stepped back before her legs could betray her.
She didn't hear the rest.
She moved.
Down unfamiliar stairs. Through corridors she didn't recognize. Away from council chambers and measured voices and decisions already made without her consent.
When she finally stopped, her breath came apart in short, furious bursts.
So that was it.
Not a woman.A variable.
Not chosen.Contained.
The pain was sharp — but beneath it, something steadier formed.
If they were studying her…If objects reacted to her presence…If the Rift stirred when she walked their borders—
Then she was not powerless.
She pressed her palm to the cold stone wall and closed her eyes.
Fine, she thought.
If they wanted to understand her, they should have asked.
...
Elena did not cry.
She had cried in her old life—once, in a supply closet, after a consultant told her she was "too emotional" to lead a service she was already running. It had been unproductive.
This required clarity.
She waited until the corridor quieted, until the shift change pulled attention elsewhere. Then she walked—normally, unhurriedly—toward the infirmary.
The Sentinels followed.
Of course they did.
She made it three corridors before slowing, pressing a hand lightly to her side.
"Eris," she said softly, not turning. "I'm dizzy."
Immediate panic.
"My lady—"
"Probably nothing," she added calmly. "But if I faint and crack my skull open, His Highness will kill someone. Possibly you."
Eris paled. "I'll fetch a healer."
"Thank you," Elena said. "I'll sit. Right here."
The moment he turned the corner, she moved.
Left. Through a linen room. Out the service door Claire had once shown her "in case you ever need to escape a lecture."
She did not run.
Running attracted attention.
She walked briskly, counted turns, ducked through a stairwell, and emerged on a different level entirely.
When she finally stopped, breathing steady, she smiled faintly to herself. Ethan Hunt would be proud.
The infirmary smelled right.
Clean. Sharp. Grounding.
Elena moved like she belonged—which she did.
She greeted the night healer by name, asked about a wounded soldier, offered a correction about poultice ratios that earned her immediate trust.
Ten minutes later, she was seated at a desk with border intake notes spread before her.
She read fast.
Burn patterns inconsistent with flame.Metal fatigue without structural trauma.Disorientation in uninjured men.
One note, scrawled hastily:
Heat without heat.
Elena closed her eyes briefly.
She copied nothing. Took nothing. Memorized everything.
Then she went to the library—but not the one people watched.
The narrow archive Claire had once whispered about. The one no one bothered with because it smelled like dust and regret.
Elena liked it immediately.
She found an old border survey, pre–Rift Wars, annotated by a scholar who clearly enjoyed being right more than being alive.
The stone does not wake when summoned.It responds to presence.It listens.
Elena's pulse slowed.
So that was the truth they were dancing around.
Not magic. Not prophecy.
Feedback.
...
She did not go back to her chambers.
She knew better than that.
She waited until the bells marked third watch, when the citadel exhaled and relaxed into routine. Then she changed—dark cloak, soft boots, hair braided tight.
No jewelry. No identifiers.
She caught her reflection in a narrow mirror and snorted quietly.
If this ended with her imprisoned or exiled, she was going to be very angry that she hadn't even packed a bag.
She slipped down into the lower levels using routes she had memorized over weeks of pretending to be lost.
When she reached the sealed corridor—old stone, colder than the rest—she paused.
This was stupid.
She knew it was stupid.
Soren would lose his mind. Kael would kill her. The council would have her locked in a room made of apologies and keys.
And yet—
She placed her palm against the stone door.
"Alright," she whispered to herself. "Let's see what you actually want."
The stone did not glow.
It warmed.
Once.
Like a heartbeat.
Elena's breath caught.
"Well," she muttered, nerves singing, "that's… new."
Whatever they were afraid of—
It wasn't her losing control.
It was her not being controlled at all.
And for the first time since she had arrived in this world, Elena smiled—not because she was safe.
But because she was finally choosing.