The knock comes late enough that my body is already winding down, muscles loose from rest rather than tension, and for half a second I assume it’s Elin or a guard doing a routine check, because that has become the shape of my evenings now, predictable and contained. When I open the door and see a woman standing there instead, posture rigid and eyes sharp with something that feels personal, the bond tightens abruptly, a warning pulse under my ribs that makes my breath catch.
She doesn’t wait for an invitation.
“Can I come in,” she asks, but her tone isn’t a question so much as a challenge, and before I can answer she steps forward anyway, crossing the threshold like it belongs to her. The guard hesitates, clearly unsure, then settles back when she flicks a look over her shoulder that carr
