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Before the storm, the capital, Arielle, stood serene and unshaken, as the radiant heart of Sylora’s strength and beauty. Its avenues, neatly ordered and flanked by stone buildings that whispered of centuries gone by, spoke to a kingdom untouched by the ravages of war. The forest that surrounded it remained as mystical and impenetrable as ever, guarding the city against threats that seemed always to linger on the borders, yet never daring to breach the peace that Arielle enjoyed.
Above, the castle loomed, its spires rising like sentinels into the heavens. The sheer cliffs it clung to fell sharply to the sea below, where the waters churned and twisted—home to dark creatures whose existence seemed more legend than fact. To the people of the capital, such fortifications were relics, symbols of a time when defense was necessary. Now, they stood merely as decorative reminders, and the people’s concerns turned not to invasion, but to the pleasantries of city life. Even the recent poisoning attempt on the king—had done little to rouse their complacency. The king had survived, after all, and life in the capital carried on with nary a ripple of concern.
She rehearsed what she would say to Sebil, standing at the edge of the market square, her mind preoccupied, she scarcely registered the constant drone of the delivery man, Kellen’s voice beside her.
“You know,” Kellen remarked, his voice full of a self-satisfied confidence that did not quite match the occasion, “I could take you to the seaside one day. You ever been out that far?”
Sehren gave a polite nod, though her thoughts were far from the present conversation. “I have been to the cliffs,” she replied in a distant tone, hoping to convey that the subject held little interest for her.
Undeterred, he pressed on. “Ah, but have you ever gone down to the shore itself? There's a little spot, hidden away. If you’re fortunate, you might even catch sight of a kraken.”
Sehren resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her father had shielded her from such attentions, yet here she was, faced with Kellen’s unsubtle attempts to charm her. It was not that he was offensive, merely that his words held no interest for her.
She glanced to the side at the boy standing quietly by, his posture unnaturally rigid for one of his supposed station. He had said little—perhaps he was shy, she thought.
Kellen, unaware of her distraction, continued, “You know, I’m not just a delivery man. I’ve got my own cart, and I’m saving up for a shop. Maybe one day, I could even take you to see more of Sylora. There’s so much beyond the palace walls.”
Sehren smiled faintly, her expression practiced and distant. “That sounds... nice,” she said, though she had no intention of following through.
Her attention drifted once more to the silent figure beside them. His dark eyes and hair set on sharp features, his expression unreadable. He stood like one accustomed to observation, yet reluctant to participate.
“Have you ever been beyond the borders of Sylora?” she asked the stable boy, seeking to draw him into the conversation.
His response was curt, as though the very idea of such an excursion held no appeal. “The idea holds no interest to me,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. Sehren blinked in mild surprise, having not expected him to speak at all.
“There is much to see outside the walls,” Kellen interjected, proudly flexing his arm and pointing to a small scar. “Only last week, I was nearly mauled by a beast while delivering goods near the edge of the forest.”
Sehren barely acknowledged his boast, her mind still on the boy beside her. His reserve was unlike any stable hand she had met before, and though he said little, his watchful gaze moved constantly over the crowd.
“Are you new to the stables?” she asked, hoping to learn more.
For a moment, he hesitated, his dark eyes meeting hers only briefly before looking away. “Something like that,” he muttered, his voice carrying an odd weight to it.
Kellen, sensing that his audience’s attention was slipping, leaned in once more. “If you ever need help in the city, you know where to find me. I’m always delivering goods to the palace.” His grin was self-assured, though it faltered when Sehren failed to respond.
“What is your name?” she asked the stable boy, determined now to uncover at least some piece of the puzzle he presented.
He hesitated again before finally speaking. “Greg.”
Sehren repeated the name softly. “I’ve not seen you before. Have you worked at the palace long?”
Greg gave a shrug that was neither here nor there. “Long enough.”
She observed him more closely, curious despite herself. “I hope they are treating you well. I once worked there myself, and my father was the stablemaster. It is no easy task.”
Greg's gaze flicked to hers for a moment before he looked away once more, saying nothing.
Sensing an opportunity to steer the conversation back to himself, Kellen jumped in again. “Stable work might be tough, but it’s nothing compared to what I do. Just last week, I was delivering goods past the border—dangerous territory, you know. There are bandits out there.”
Sehren nodded absentmindedly, barely hearing him. “I wonder when Sebil will arrive,” she mused aloud, her thoughts turning once more to her absent friend.
“Are you waiting for her?” Greg asked, his tone sharp enough to draw her attention fully back to him.
“Yes,” Sehren replied, taken aback by his sudden interest. “Sebil was supposed to meet me here. That’s why I came.”
His posture shifted, and for the first time since their conversation began, he seemed genuinely engaged. “Do you... see her often?”
Sehren blinked, surprised by the question. Before she could answer, Kellen burst in with a loud chuckle.
“Well, of course she does!” he declared, his voice booming in the quiet of the square. “They’re practically inseparable, aren’t you, Sehren?”
Greg shot him a look of displeasure, his expression hardening. “I wasn’t speaking to you,” he muttered, his words clipped and formal.
Kellen raised an eyebrow, amused by the rebuke. “You talk like you’ve stepped straight out of a noble’s court,” he said with a laugh. “Lighten up, friend, we’re just having a conversation.”
Greg’s ears flushed slightly, though he tried to maintain his composure. “I... I speak perfectly well,” he stammered, clearly uncomfortable with the casual banter.
Kellen grinned, leaning closer to Sehren. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. But you, Sehren, are the real mystery here. Sensible, responsible... nothing like Sebil, always getting herself into trouble.”
Sehren smiled faintly, watching Greg, who stood stiffly by, his frustration mounting.
“Well, I believe Sebil is not quite as troublesome as people say,” she replied softly, offering Greg a chance to rejoin the conversation.
Kellen waved his hand, his words coming out in a clumsy attempt at flattery. “Ah, Sehren, you’ve got that quiet way about you. You listen, and that’s rare—especially with Sebil talking all the time. It’s no wonder you two get along so well. You just sit there, letting her go on, and I guess that’s what makes it work.”
He threw a glance at Greg, his smirk widening. “But Greg here,” Kellen added, with a rough chuckle, “he wouldn’t be for you. Fella can hardly hold a chat, so I reckon your patience would go to waste. He needs someone who can keep him talking, not someone sittin’ there listening.” There was an awkward silence, but Kellen seemed satisfied with himself, unaware of the offense his words carried.
Ren cleared his throat, visibly struggling with his words. “I... I talk just fine,” he said, though it sounded more like a command than a statement.
Kellen snorted, rolling his eyes. “Wow, riveting stuff, Greg.”
Sehren couldn't hold back her laughter this time, covering her mouth with her hand. Greg looked flustered but determined, as if he wasn’t about to let Kellen show him up.
Greg hesitated for a moment, clearly struggling with how to respond. “I... I... well, I...” He glanced at Sehren, who was still holding back her amusement.
Kellen chuckled. “You’re stiff as a board, mate. If we were at court, I’d bow right now.”
Ren’s face reddened further, and Sehren, seeing his discomfort, stepped in with a gentle smile. “Kellen, you’re teasing him.”
Kellen shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “I’m only trying to liven things up a bit.”
Greg shot him a glare but remained silent, too frustrated to come up with a response that wouldn’t sound stiff.
Sehren smiled to herself. For someone who was so rigid and reserved, Greg’s struggle with informal talk was oddly endearing.
As they walked away from the square, Sehren cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder, observing Greg’s retreating figure. His departure had been marked by an odd stiffness, as though he were keen to leave the scene before more could be said. Turning her attention back to Kellen, she allowed curiosity, tempered with propriety, to rise within her.
“You never did say how it is that you know him,” Sehren began, her voice measured and composed. “Greg, I mean. Why was he meant to accompany us if you do not even know him?”
Kellen laughed softly, the sound almost lost in the air between them. “Ah, but there lies the peculiarity of it all. The truth is, I don’t know him,” he admitted, shaking his head as if at the folly of the situation. “Sebil had made arrangements with me to come into town today. She had some errands to run, so she asked for a ride. Then, a stable hand mentioned that someone from the stables also needed a lift into the square. So I thought, why not?”
Sehren’s brows lifted slightly in curiosity. “Sebil made the arrangements?” she asked, her interest kindled.
Kellen nodded. “Indeed. Sebil and I have been friends since we were children. She’s always got her hand in something—or, in this case, trying to meddle with mine.” His voice took on an amused tone, though it was softened by affection. “She thought it would be a fine idea for me to take you along as well.”
“Me?” Sehren echoed, her surprise lightly veiled. “Why would she do that?”
Kellen glanced at her, his smile broadening as though he were privy to a private jest. “Sebil has long believed herself a matchmaker. She’s spoken to me about you quite often, you know—about how reliable, kind, and sensible you are. She thought she’d do me a favor, introduce me to a nice girl.”
Sehren felt a peculiar warmth rise in her chest at his words. Sebil had thought her a “nice girl.” The term was simple, almost too common, but there was a tenderness in knowing that Sebil still regarded her with such fondness.
“She said that about me?” Sehren murmured, almost to herself, feeling an unexpected softness in the admission.
Kellen’s voice interrupted her reverie, his tone carrying a gentle teasing. “Indeed, she did. She’s always looking out for me, trying to make sure I end up with someone she approves of.”
Sehren smiled faintly, though her thoughts were now distracted by Greg’s earlier presence—and his abrupt departure.
“And what of Greg?” she asked, her voice composed but curious. “What was his purpose in all of this? It seems strange that he would appear and leave so quickly.”
Kellen shrugged, seemingly unaffected by the mystery that Greg presented. “I cannot say for certain. His business was his own, I suppose.”
The afternoon sun, casting its warm and golden glow across the market square, painted the scene with a lively brilliance. Sehren found herself, much to her own surprise, enjoying Kellen’s company. His easy, untroubled manner lent a certain charm to the passing hours, even as her mind occasionally wandered to distant thoughts. The bustling energy of the market, the laughter of vendors, and Kellen’s lighthearted banter together formed a pleasant backdrop, a much-needed distraction from the weighty matters that so often filled the palace halls.
As they ambled past a small stall, Kellen’s steps slowed, his gaze falling on a modest display of delicate flowers. With a boyish grin, he reached out and plucked a soft pink daisy, turning to her with an air of playful mischief.
“For you,” he said, extending the daisy towards her, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “A small token, to mark this fine afternoon.”
Sehren blinked in mild surprise, caught unawares by the gesture. For a moment, she hesitated, but then she reached out, taking the daisy from his hand. Its soft fragrance, mingled with the tender hue, stirred something deep within her — an echo of another time, another gift. A blush rose unbidden to her cheeks, the memory as vivid as the flower she now held.
Kellen, noticing the faint color in her face, misread the moment entirely. “Ah,” he teased, clearly pleased, “I see even you cannot resist the charms of a simple flower.”
Sehren offered him a small smile. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft as her fingers absently twirled the daisy. It was a gesture, a polite acknowledgment of the present moment, though her thoughts were drawn toward memories she had tried, with little success, to leave behind.
As they neared the edge of the square, where Kellen’s cart waited for their return, Sehren remained distant, her mind preoccupied despite the pleasant air of the afternoon. The flower in her hand seemed to carry with it a weight far heavier than its fragile petals suggested.
Kellen guided the cart along the road toward the palace, the coolness of the evening air now creeping in around them. As they reached the gates, he turned to her, his expression soft, his tone tinged with hope. “I enjoyed today,” he said, his words almost tentative. “Perhaps we could do it again sometime?”
Sehren paused, the daisy still resting lightly in her hand. “Perhaps,” she replied, her voice quiet, though not without warmth. She stepped down from the cart, offering a polite farewell before turning toward the palace gates, her thoughts still weighed down by the memories stirred by the afternoon’s small exchange.
As she walked back toward the familiar stone walls of the palace, she tried to shake the lingering memory. ‘You must let it go,’ she told herself firmly. ‘That man likely doesn’t remember you at all. Focus on what lies before you now.’
But the past, as fleeting as it might seem, clung to her like the fragrance of the daisy, refusing to be dismissed quite so easily.
The palace guards, as was their custom, performed their steady patrols along the grand perimeter of the palace at this particular hour. It was a rhythm as dependable as the turning of the seasons, the quiet echo of their boots on the stone serving as a familiar accompaniment to the life within the royal residence. Within the castle’s labyrinthine passages and courtyards, various guards maintained their silent vigil, each distinguished by their prescribed uniforms. The princess’s own retinue, dressed in the rich red and gleaming silver of their order, moved with an air of serenity, never to be seen bearing weapons openly, as if their very presence alone were deterrence enough.
So it was that, upon Sehren's return to the courtyard, her eyes were immediately drawn to an unfamiliar sight — one that intruded upon the placid tableau. Before her stood a figure not of the princess’s guard but of the king’s own, a towering sentinel clad in heavy leather armor, adorned with intricate patterns of gold and silver studs and buckles, which glinted ominously in the fading evening light. There was something about his posture — rigid, unyielding — that made Sehren pause.
What business, she thought, could the king’s guard have in this quarter, so far removed from his usual post? Her mind, ever inclined to suspicion when faced with such deviations from the ordinary, whispered that this was no mere happenstance.
With cautious deliberation, Sehren crossed the courtyard, her steps measured, her purpose masked in a deliberate attempt to avoid drawing the guard’s attention. Yet, it seemed fortune was not to favor her today. For as she neared the grand fountain at the courtyard’s center, the guard turned — slowly, deliberately — and his gaze fell upon her. At first, Sehren fancied it mere coincidence, that his movement was arbitrary and his course would lead him past her without the faintest recognition of her presence. But there was something in his eyes, a nervous flicker, that betrayed his intention.
He approached, his stride purposeful, and though there was no malice in his approach, the anxious urgency in his expression was enough to give Sehren pause. She stopped, her heart quickening, not in fear, but in the apprehension that precedes the unknown. She watched him as he drew nearer, her thoughts racing as to what news this herald of the king could bring — for surely, a message conveyed in such haste, by such a man, could be nothing but grave.
"My name is Aleron," the young man announced, his voice carrying a certain unease as he stood before her. "I am a king’s guard in training."
Sehren, caught somewhat off guard by the sudden introduction, looked him over cautiously. "Yes..." she replied slowly, her gaze sharpening. "Do you need something?"
"Are you Sehren?"
She hesitated for a brief moment, unnerved by the fact that this stranger seemed to know her name. "Yes, I am," she answered, her alarm growing slightly. It wasn’t common for a king's guard—or even one in training—to recognize her so easily.
Aleron gave a nervous, almost sheepish smile. "Sebil told me a lot about you. I thought it might be you. Hair always in a bun... flowers somewhere about her." He gestured faintly towards her hair, where, unbeknownst to Sehren, a small bloom had woven its way into the braid. She blinked, startled by the observation. It had never crossed her mind that she had developed a habit for adorning herself with flowers. Instinctively, her fingers fumbled for the daisy Kellen had given her, and she tucked it quickly into her pocket, as if trying to erase the evidence.
But before she could respond, Aleron stepped closer. With an anxious glance over his shoulder, he reached for her arm. His hand, she noticed, trembled slightly as his fingers closed around her wrist, pulling her gently, yet with urgency, into a shadowed corridor, away from the grand entrance of the great hall. Sehren barely had time to register the sudden shift in his demeanor before she found herself in the dim and quiet passage, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly off the polished stone floor.
The fading light of the day filtered through the tall, narrow windows, casting long, spectral shadows that danced across the walls. In that moment, as the last of the sun’s warmth slipped away, the chill of the encroaching evening seemed to settle around them. A shiver ran through Sehren, though whether it was from the cold or the growing sense of unease that Aleron’s actions had stirred, she could not tell.
“Aleron,” she began, her voice steady though her heart quickened in anticipation. “Is it something to do with Sebil?”
His response was immediate, but low, as if the information he carried weighed heavily upon him. “She's been missing– no one has seen her since yesterday,” he informed her quietly, his eyes flicking away from hers as if to avoid further inquiry.
The words struck Sehren with a sense of unease. “Yesterday…” she echoed, frowning.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdZqwBok3SQ
Sehren’s pulse quickened. “Missing? But... she was supposed to meet me in the square. I thought she’d just... gotten caught up in something.”
Aleron’s gaze steadied on her's, but his mouth set into a grim line. “She left the palace yesterday, and no one has heard from her since.”
Sehren felt a knot form in her stomach, though she kept her tone measured. “Has anyone said where she might have gone? Perhaps another servant saw her leave.”
Aleron shook his head. “I’ve spoken with those who might know. Nothing.”
His eyes, sharp and alert, searched Sehren’s face. “Did she tell you about any plans of hers?”
“I haven't spoke to her for a long time now,” Sehren began guiltily.
“Did you have a disagreement with her?” He interjected but didn't wait for an answer. “Look Sehren, she might be a little nosy but her heart's in the right place. It might not sound like it but she doesn't mean to be malicious.”
His eyes, sharp and alert, searched Sehren’s face. “Have you noticed anything unusual? Heard anything about where she might have gone?”
Sehren felt her breath catch. Greg. His strange behavior, his abrupt departure from the square. And now, Sebil’s disappearance.
“I—” Sehren hesitated, the flower crumpling slightly in her hand. Sehren’s heart sank. Her mind raced with possibilities. “Greg was acting strange earlier. He was with us at the square but he left suddenly, and he barely said a word. I thought it was nothing, but now...”
Aleron’s frown deepened. “Greg?” His voice was puzzled, his brow furrowing further. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“He said he worked in the stables,” Sehren said.
“I’m familiar with the staff in the stables, and no one goes by Greg.”
Sehren’s stomach dropped. “You’re sure? He said he was a stable hand. He took the cart with us down to the square, but not on the way back.”
“I’ll look into it,” Aleron promised, his voice hardening with resolve. “Something isn’t right. Sebil would never disappear without a word. If this Greg is involved, I’ll find out.” His hand clenched into a fist at his side, and Sehren could see the worry etched in his features. Though Aleron tried to remain composed, it was clear that his feelings for Sebil ran deep. The thought of her being in danger had him visibly shaken.
Sehren nodded, though her heart was heavy with uncertainty. The afternoon had been simple and pleasant, but now the reality of something darker lurking within the palace was beginning to take shape.
“I think for now, it's best you stay away from the stables. I'll find out what's going on and report back to you if I find anything out. And you can do the same on your end with the other girls working in the palace.” Aleron said.
“Yes, I'll do that. Thank you,” she murmured, turning away. Aleron’s eyes followed her as she walked, though his expression revealed little else. Whatever he knew—or felt—about Sebil, he kept it hidden.
Later that evening, after making discreet inquiries among the palace staff, Sehren approached one of the kitchen servants, a girl she had known for some time.
“Have you heard anything of Sebil?” Sehren asked, trying yo maintain a casual tone. “It seems no one has seen her since yesterday.”
The girl shook her head. “No I haven't. But if anyone were to know, it would be Brenna, I’d wager. She’s the one Sebil has to inform before leaving.”
Sehren felt a flicker of hope. Brenna. Of course. If Sebil had told anyone, it would be her. With renewed determination, Sehren made her way to the servants’ quarters, seeking out the woman who she always tried to avoid.
When Sehren found Brenna later in the night, the older woman was sitting near a window, yarning a scarf while conversing with a girl Sehren knew in passing. She approached cautiously, not wanting to be a bother, yet too anxious to wait.
“Mistress Brenna,” Sehren began softly, “do you know where Sebil might be? She was supposed to meet me, but no one seems to have seen her.”
Brenna didn’t look up from her work, her hands continuing to move deftly with the needle. After a moment’s silence, she finally responded, her tone full of annoyance. “It’s a private matter, Sehren. If it concerns you, the person it involves should be the one to tell you.”
Sehren blinked, taken aback by the answer. She hesitated, unsure how to press further without seeming intrusive, but Brenna’s expression made it clear the conversation was not to continue. Whatever Brenna knew, she would not share it easily.
Two days passed, and Sehren’s unease grew heavier with each day. It was on the morning of the second day that she found Kellen, just as he had promised, making his deliveries near the back of the kitchen.
“Kellen,” she called to him, her voice betraying none of the urgency she felt. He turned at her call, tipping his head in greeting.
“Ah, Sehren,” he said easily, stepping forward. “Good to see you.” He held out a hand in greeting, asking for her's.
Sehren wasted no time. “Have you seen Sebil? She hasn’t been at the palace for two days now.”
Kellen’s brow furrowed in mild confusion. “Sebil? No, I had no idea she was missing,” he said. “Last I saw her was the other day when she said she had some errands in town. Thought she’d be back by now.”
Sehren frowned, studying his face for any sign of deception, but Kellen’s expression remained open, if somewhat indifferent. “And Aleron, the king's guard?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “Do you know of him? Is he an acquaintance of Sebil's?”
Kellen’s brow furrowed further. “Aleron? No idea. I don’t really know the guards by name.”
The answer, though casual, left Sehren with more questions. She gave a curt nod, murmuring a polite goodbye before turning on her heel and making her way back toward the palace.
No one in the palace seemed to miss Sebil's absence. They continued on with their usual duties. There was no interruption in their routine, which Sehren found the most outrageous. Whenever she saw two people talk and laugh amongst themselves it reminded her of Sebil and she would indignantly stomp out of the room from the frustration of uncertainty.
Unable to restrain herself any longer, Sehren stole away from the palace under the cover of night. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of nerves and urgency driving her forward. The moon cast a pale light over the stables, illuminating the familiar path she had walked so many times in her childhood.
As she reached the stables, she spotted Joshen, seated upon one of the horses, and several other stable hands she had known since she was a child. There was a deep sense of comfort in seeing them, despite the tension gnawing at her.
Without thinking, she practically ran toward them.
“Joshen!” she called softly, almost breathless. The man turned, his weathered face lighting up at the sight of her.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Sehren!” Joshen’s voice boomed with warmth as he dismounted. “Look at you, back in the stables where you belong.”
Before she could reply, one of the stable hands, Thorne, grinned widely and reached out to clasp her hand. “Ah, it’s good to see you, lass,” he said with a fond squeeze. “You’ve been too long away from us.”
Another, Maren, stepped forward, brushing a hand gently over her hair as if she were still the little girl who had once run about the stables. “You’ve grown thin, Sehren,” she said with a note of concern. “What have they been feeding you in that palace of theirs?”
Sehren smiled despite her unease, feeling the warmth of their affection. “It’s just the work, I suppose,” she replied, though she struggled to keep her thoughts focused.
“We hear you’re doing well for yourself up at the palace,” said Darrow, one of the younger stable hands who had always looked up to her father. “But you don’t come visit us. We miss you.”
Maren hugged her then, briefly but fiercely, and Jorick, one of the older men, leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Your father would be proud, Sehren,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve done well, girl.”
Sehren’s heart swelled with both gratitude and a growing sense of urgency. As much as she appreciated their kindness, there was a matter far more pressing on her mind. She tried to steer the conversation toward her purpose, but their voices overlapped, their concern for her palpable.
“Look how pale you’ve grown,” Thorne commented, squeezing her hand again.
“You must come back and visit more often,” Maren insisted, patting her on the shoulder.
“Thank you,” Sehren said, trying to pull herself out from beneath the warmth of their affections. “But... Joshen, I—there’s something I need to ask.”
Joshen, who had been watching her with a proud smile, raised a brow. “Of course, Sehren. What is it?”
Sehren hesitated briefly before blurting out, “Do you know someone by the name of Greg? He works in the stables, doesn’t he?”
Joshen glanced at her, his smile faltering for a moment. He scratched his head, his expression thoughtful. “Greg, you say?” His gaze shifted to the others, and for a moment, there was a shared look between them that Sehren couldn’t quite place. “I'm not sure. Not one of the regulars.”
Sehren nodded slowly, but her instincts told her something wasn’t right. “He’s tall, dark hair... He met me and Kellen in the town square the other day.”
Joshen, who had returned to his work, didn’t look up this time. “Couldn’t say,” he replied vaguely. “The stables are always busy—people coming and going. Not everyone sticks around long enough to get to know one another.”
Joshen exchanged another glance with the others, and though they didn’t say anything outright, the air between them shifted. They seemed to recognize who she was talking about but were unwilling to confirm it.
“I’m not sure I know anyone by that description,” Maren said, her voice unusually casual, as though she were trying to brush the subject aside. “Probably just someone passing through.”
“Yes, could be,” Thorne added quickly, stepping closer to pat Sehren on the back. “You’ve been away from the stables too long, Sehren. The faces change all the time.”
The shift in tone wasn’t lost on her. There was something they weren’t telling her, and though they were like family to her, she knew they wouldn’t speak openly. Not yet.
Despite her rising frustration, Sehren forced a smile. “I see,” she said quietly. “Well, if you hear anything... let me know.”
Joshen nodded, his expression carefully neutral. “Of course, Sehren. We’ll let you know.”
As she turned to leave, she felt the weight of their silence pressing down on her. There was more to this than they were willing to say. Whatever the reason, they had chosen to keep it from her, and that only deepened her sense of unease.
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