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 hadn't called since the night before. That alone unsettled her more than any punishment.

He had mastered the art of absence.

Still, she felt him everywhere: in the silence of the halls, in how conversations stopped as she passed, in the slight pressure in her body whenever a door creaked open behind her.

She told herself it was paranoia. It wasn't.

He found her just after noon.

Not with a command.

Not with words.

With proximity.

Callie was kneeling to scrub the base of a carved pillar i