It happened inside a ruined chapel.
The roof was missing.
The pews were broken.
The cross leaned like a question that had waited too long for answers.

Ziya stood at the altar, silent.
Julin entered without a word.
He held something in his hand — a letter, its seal unbroken.

“You could’ve told me,” he said.

Ziya didn’t move.

“You could’ve told me you were his daughter.”

The name was never spoken.
It didn’t have to be.
Everyone in the rebellion knew who De Ravone was.

General of the Royal Army.
Crushes uprisings.
Kills without blinking.

Ziya looked at Julin, and for the first time, she didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t choose my blood,” she whispered.

“But you chose silence.”

Julin’s voice cracked.
He dropped the letter at her feet.

The air between them was heavy —
not with anger.
But with disappointment.

A rebel stumbled into the chapel, dragging a captured traitor behind him.
Julin didn’t even look.
His eyes were on her.

“Did you lie to all of us?” he asked.

Ziya walked forward slowly.
Her hands trembled, but her voice didn’t.

“I burned that crown the day I met you.”

She knelt beside the letter.

“But if you want to wear it back on me — do it.”

She looked up, eyes shining.

“I won’t run.”