By then, Callie knew the rhythms of the palace better than her own breath.

Morning bells.

Stone corridors waking up.

Servants stirring like ghosts trained not to exist.

And yet, each step felt heavier than the last.

She performed her duties with practiced precision: polishing brass railings, replacing silk runners, adjusting chandeliers that no one but the King seemed to notice. Her hands worked automatically while her thoughts betrayed her, wandering where they shouldn't.

To him.

Darian