Morning light had slipped into the room unnoticed, casting soft shadows across the space where Liora sat on the edge of the bed, her robe tied with casual looseness around her frame.

  She fixed her gaze on the worn floorboards below, as though prolonged scrutiny might coax some elusive crity from their grains. The estate held a gentle hush at this early hour, a silence that neither imposed nor intruded, allowing thoughts to drift without interruption.

  Marisol had departed some time ago, leaving behind the echo of their shared words and a few light ughs that had punctuated the night. Their parting had been straightforward, devoid of lingering questions or unnecessary scrutiny—the sort of conclusion Liora favored, where understanding settled in without demand for dissection.

  She could slot the encounter into a familiar framework: a blend of training, release, and uncomplicated connection that aligned neatly with her expectations.

  Yet her mind refused to quiet, resisting the easy resolution she sought. Leaning forward with elbows braced on her knees, she acknowledged the persistent undercurrent. It wasn't Marisol who occupied her reflections now, but Noa.

  With a measured exhale, Liora reclined against the pillows and tilted her head toward the ceiling.

  "…seriously?"

  The night had passed, its tensions dissolved into the dawn. Her body felt grounded, muscles carrying a satisfying ache but no unrest. No lingering urgency stirred within her.

  Still, the memory lingered—not of a specific gesture or contact, but of the profound stillness that had enveloped them. Noa had imposed nothing, offered no corrections, extended no unsolicited aid. She had simply existed in the space, present without agenda.

  Liora pressed both hands to her face, rubbing away the fatigue.

  "That shouldn’t matter."

  But the significance refused to dissipate, enduring beyond the morning's light. In this house, experiences often ignited with fierce intensity only to ebb away, leaving lessons absorbed and progress made. This sensation, however, held steady, refusing to fade.

  It suggested something deeper than the fleeting moment itself—it centered on the way she had felt within it, a rare vulnerability that lingered. Her jaw tightened as the realization sharpened, and then the name she had been skirting emerged fully: Camille.

  Liora straightened abruptly, her posture rigid. She hadn't witnessed anything directly; her time had been spent entirely with Marisol. Yet earlier glimpses of Camille moving toward that section of the corridor painted vivid possibilities in her mind, unbidden and insistent.

  If Camille had sought out Noa... Liora's fingers gripped the robe's fabric, twisting it taut. Noa shared herself with others; that was no secret, and it had never troubled Liora before. It held no right to unsettle her now.

  But the disturbance felt distinct, not rooted in the mere notion of their potential intimacy. Instead, it stemmed from the fear that Camille might have encountered the same tranquil acceptance, the same unspoken relief that Liora had cherished.

  She rose and paced the room's length once, her steps deliberate.

  "…that’s stupid."

  The dismissal rang hollow, failing to dispel the unease. This wasn't simple jealousy, nor a desire to cim possession. It was a deeper discomfort: the reluctance to share that singur refuge where strength wasn't required, a space that felt diminished if accessible to just anyone without deeper implication.

  Worse still, Liora couldn't be certain of Camille's true state. She had presumed Camille remained defiant, dissecting the house's dynamics from a detached vantage, resisting its pull to preserve her autonomy. But what if that assumption faltered? What if Camille was already yielding, threads of her resolve fraying unnoticed?

  The insight propelled a shift within her, transforming vague worry into purpose. This wasn't about interference or prevention; it was about seeking truth. She cinched the robe's sash more firmly and strode to the door, momentum carrying her before doubt could intervene.

  The corridor stretched briefly before her, its brevity amplifying her resolve. Camille's room y just a few doors distant. Liora's hand paused in mid-air, then rapped sharply against the wood.

  The door swung open, revealing Camille's startled expression.

  "Sav—"

  "Liora."

  A weighted silence stretched between them, unbroken until Liora met her eyes with unwavering calm.

  "We need to talk."