⚠️ Content Warning: This episode contains emotional distress and psychological tension. Reader discretion is advised.

I opened my eyes to pale sunlight and the memory of dying. My pulse still echoed with the sound of my last breath. I didn’t know what disturbed me more: the pain, or the fact that I had loved the man who caused it.

Cassian.

Even thinking his name felt like swallowing broken glass. My murderer wore the smile of a poet and the voice of a lover. How had I not seen it then?

I sat upright in bed, gripping the sheets. There was no proof in this life. No blood. No betrayal. Not yet. And that terrified me more than anything.

I dressed quickly and slipped into the courtyard, hoping the cool air would clear my head. The halls of House Valemire were hushed at this hour, only the rustle of ivy and the distant whisper of servants moving through their morning duties. I wandered through the garden paths, past flowering hedges and white marble statues, trying to convince myself this was just another day.

It wasn’t.

Because there, standing beneath the willow tree, was Cassian.

The sunlight caught in his hair, turning it gold. His smile—that same disarming, boyish smile—made my stomach twist.

“Aria,” he called out, warm as ever. “I thought I might find you here.”

I froze. My throat went dry. He looked just as he had the day before he killed me. His voice hadn’t changed. His eyes hadn’t changed.

But I had.

“I came to see your father’s new exhibit,” he said, stepping closer. “I hoped you’d join me.”

There was a time I would’ve said yes without hesitation. A time when I’d hang on every word he said. But now, all I saw was the moment he pressed the dagger into my chest.

“I’m not in the mood,” I replied, my voice tight.

His brows lifted, but he didn’t push. “You’re different this morning.”

“I suppose I am.”

I turned away before he could see the fear rising in my eyes. I didn’t want him near me. I didn’t want him to see how badly my hands were shaking.

I rushed through the outer corridors, trying to collect myself, but the world had other plans.

In the south courtyard, framed by red marble columns and the scent of old stone, he was there.

The Duke.

He stood with his back to the sun, hands clasped behind him, watching a falcon circle the sky. The wind teased at the edge of his black cloak, revealing the crimson lining beneath. He didn’t turn until I approached, and when he did, those pale blue eyes locked on mine.

Cold. Unreadable. Sharp as glass.

“Lady Valemire,” he said, voice like winter.

“Your Grace.”

There was no bow, no courtesy, no flicker of amusement. Just ice.

He turned away just as easily, eyes returning to the falcon overhead, dismissing me like I didn’t matter. But the weight of that gaze lingered.

I wasn’t sure which unnerved me more—Cassian’s warm smile or the Duke’s frozen silence.

I escaped back to my room, shut the door, and leaned against it, chest rising and falling like I’d run a mile. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Cassian. The Duke. One after the other.

The man I had loved and the man I had feared—both looking at me as if nothing had changed.

But I had changed.

And I didn’t know how long I could pretend I hadn’t.