Rain fell without pause through the night. By morning the courtyard was a pool of gray water and the sky hung low, pressing against the roofs. Lena and the other maids hurried across the slippery stones carrying buckets and cloths to keep the corridors dry. The thunder came closer each hour, shaking the windows. Inside the palace, the air felt tense, like everyone was waiting for something to happen.

Mistress Halden’s cane struck the floor again and again as she barked orders. “Keep the rugs rolled. Watch the leaks near the east wing. The prince’s council meets today and they will not step in puddles.” Her voice cut through the storm like a blade.

Lena worked beside Mira near the grand stairway. Her arms ached from scrubbing yet her mind was elsewhere. Since the man with the silver emblem had died, whispers moved like smoke through the servants’ halls. No one spoke of it openly, but every glance carried the same fear. Lena kept thinking of the warning he had given her about Lady Serah. The words repeated in her head even louder than the thunder outside.

By noon the rain turned heavier. Water dripped from the ceiling near the windows. A group of guards rushed past them, boots pounding on the marble. Mira watched them go. “That’s the third patrol this morning,” she said softly. “They’re searching again.”

“For what?”

“Or who,” Mira answered.

When the storm reached its peak the air grew dark as evening. Lightning flashed behind the stained-glass windows, turning the colored saints into shadows. Mistress Halden dismissed the maids early, warning them to stay inside the quarters until the bell. Most obeyed. Lena waited until the footsteps faded, then slipped down the back corridor toward the eastern garden. She needed answers, even if it meant risking her place.

The garden was almost unrecognizable in the rain. The flowers bent under the weight of water, the pond overflowed, and the statues looked like ghosts through the mist. She called softly, “Lady Serah?” No reply. Only the hiss of rain against stone.

Then a figure appeared beneath the archway. It was Serah, her violet gown soaked and clinging to her shoulders. “You should not be here,” she said.

“You said the Gate chooses people,” Lena said, stepping closer. “Someone died last night. A man with your seal. Why?”

Serah’s face darkened. “Because he knew too much. This palace lives on secrets. He forgot that silence keeps people alive.”

“Was he helping you?”

“He was guarding what lies beneath this place,” Serah said. “There are rooms under the palace older than the kingdom itself. The Gate is not only a passage between worlds. It is a wound, and someone is trying to open it again.”

Lena stared at her. “Why tell me?”

“Because you crossed once. If the Gate opens, it may pull you back—or worse, pull both worlds together. I thought the Gate had chosen you to heal the rift. But now I am not certain.”

Lightning split the sky, and for a second Serah’s eyes seemed to shine with fear. She turned away. “Go back. Pretend you know nothing. If the prince learns you are from elsewhere, he will not protect you. He will use you.”

Before Lena could speak, a horn echoed from the palace towers—three short blasts that made the ground tremble. Guards shouted in the distance. Serah stiffened. “The council has ended early. They must have decided something.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the kingdom is moving toward war.” Serah’s voice dropped lower. “And war always begins inside these walls.”

She vanished into the rain, leaving Lena alone. The horn sounded again, deeper this time. She ran back through the servants’ corridors, heart racing. Mira met her halfway, breathless. “Where were you? They’re locking the outer gates. Everyone’s ordered to stay inside.”

“What happened?”

“The prince dismissed half the council. Two nobles were arrested. No one knows why.”

They hurried back to the quarters as the storm pounded harder. The sound of chains echoed somewhere down the hall. Lena caught sight of armored guards dragging someone past the courtyard, a man shouting protests that were lost in the thunder.

When night fell the rain finally began to fade, but the tension remained. The palace lights burned late, spilling gold across the wet stones. Lena sat on her bed unable to rest. Mira slept beside her, clutching the blanket. Outside, the world smelled of wet earth and iron.

She reached into her sleeve and unfolded the damp note from Serah, its ink nearly gone. The crescent seal still showed faintly. She whispered, “A wound between worlds.” The phrase sent a chill through her. She thought of the flash of light from the car, the moment of impact, the way time had broken. Maybe the wound had opened the night she died—or the night she arrived.

A knock startled her. She hid the paper quickly. A guard’s voice came through the door. “Lena Carter?”

She froze. “Yes?”

“You are to report to the prince’s hall at dawn.” The footsteps faded.

Lena sat in the dark, listening to the last drops of rain slide down the window. The storm outside had ended, but another one was waiting for her inside the palace walls.