Alaric shifted his stance slightly, hands clasped behind his back.
"The western wing has been secured for the night," he reported calmly. "Servants have been reassigned, and the patrol routes adjusted as instructed."
Darcien nodded once. "Good."
Maya blinked. "…That's it?"
Alaric glanced at her again, clearly unaccustomed to being questioned so casually. "That is all."
She leaned back in her chair. "Wow. All that mystery for logistics."
Darcien ignored the comment. "You may go."
Alaric bowed and turned to leave—but not before Maya spoke again.
"Hey."
He paused.
She pointed vaguely at his head. "Seriously. Whatever you're doing? Don't stop."
Alaric hesitated, then said flatly, "Noted," before exiting.
The door closed behind him.
Silence settled.
Maya hummed, swinging her legs slightly. "You people are very serious about everything."
"This is not a place for frivolity," Darcien replied.
She smiled. "And yet, here I am."
He glanced at her, then away again, as if unsure what to do with that statement.
"You should rest," he said after a moment. "It has been a long day."
She tilted her head. "You sound like you're ordering me."
"I am."
She laughed softly. "Figures."
She rose, stretching slightly, then paused. "Darcien?"
"Yes?"
She hesitated—just a fraction. "If… something strange ever happened to me, would you tell me?"
His expression tightened. "Strange how?"
She shook her head quickly. "Never mind. Forget I asked."
She turned toward the door, then stopped again. "Good night."
He watched her leave, his gaze lingering long after the door closed.
Somewhere deep inside, a quiet unease settled—because for all her laughter and careless words, Maya spoke like someone brushing against truths she had no memory of… and no reason to know.