In her hands, a prepared breakfast—simple, warm, meant to steady someone who had not rested.
Maya. At least, that was what she believed.
When she reached the wardroom, she stepped inside without hesitation. "Good morning, Thomas," she said, voice soft but clear.
Thomas turned his head, already awake, though fatigue still marked his features. "Good morning, Mother."
She set the tray near the bedside, her gaze already searching the room out of habit. The couch. Empty.
She paused. Only a second. Then looked back at Thomas. "Where is Maya?"
The question came naturally. Expected.
Thomas frowned, the same unease from earlier returning. "Isn't she at home?"
Luna stilled. Something in the answer did not align. "At home?" Slower now.
Thomas shifted, ignoring the pull of healing muscle as he pushed himself up. "She was here last night. On the couch." His eyes flicked toward it again. "Then morning came… and she was gone."
