|| Lilac’s POV ||
The days blurred together in a haze of ink-stained fingers and late-night study sessions. Dad’s office had become my refuge—the scent of old books and coffee grounding me as I poured over pack ledgers and border reports. Numbers, treaties, supply routes—things I’d never cared about in my past life now consumed me.
Dad watched me with quiet pride, his usual stern expression softening whenever I asked a question.
"You're going cross-eyed, sweetpea," Dad murmured, nudging a steaming mug of cocoa toward me. The rich scent of chocolate cut through the musty smell of old parchment.
I blinked, rubbing my temples. "Just trying to memorize the southern patrol routes." My voice came out hoarse from hours of silence.
Dad's chair creaked as he leaned back, studying me with that
