Chapter 8. The One Who Watches

She didn’t knock.

Sera never knocked—never when she slipped into the nursery at dawn, never when the two of them were children, whispering dares to push one another’s boundaries, never when they scavenged crusts of stolen bread in hidden corners. Tonight was different. She hadn’t followed Aeryn’s quiet footsteps, hadn’t pressed questions into the silent knots behind her sister’s eyes. Instead, she waited.

She waited until the others’ breaths had evened into sleep, until the last glowing ember in the hearth faded from fierce orange to soft, memory-red. She waited until Aeryn was alone in her thoughts—that fragile moment just before dreams claimed her but after her pulse had settled.

Aeryn lay on her narrow cot, her spine a rigid line against the chill that crept beneath even thick wool blankets. Her eyes were half-closed, fixed on the dark timbers overhead, unblinking and watchful. When Sera slipped through the door, padding across the cold floorboards, Aeryn’s head