Raven woke alone.
Gray morning light leaked under the curtain's edge. She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle into her bones. Her own room. Her own bed. The sheets were cool on the side she hadn't slept on.
She had stayed in the library until nearly three. Sat with it. Let it breathe. Chose not to go anywhere.
That had been enough. For now.
She dressed before the mansion fully woke — tactical trousers, boots laced to the ankle, the knife riding quiet at her hip. The corridors were still dark at their far ends. The staff hadn't started moving yet. The kitchen was silent. The mansion had that particular stillness it only wore in the hour before it remembered there was a war on.
