Liora had been restless all day. She had not paced or unraveled, but something inside her remained tightly wound, like a spring held under tension. By the time the clock edged toward eight, the quiet waiting had become unbearable.

  “Gym,” she muttered to herself.

  She rose and moved with sharp efficiency. Her daytime clothes came off quickly and without hesitation. In their pce she pulled on a matte bck high-impact sports bra, the clean, angur seams framing her shoulders and chest like functional armor. She adjusted it once, tugging the band into pce until it sat exactly where she wanted it. Next came dark charcoal compression shorts, high-waisted and tight enough to move with her without shifting.

  She slid into a cropped training jacket, nearly bck, leaving it unzipped and pushing the sleeves up to her forearms. Her hair went back into a tight braid, pulled firm enough that no loose strands would escape.

  Hand wraps came st. She taped her knuckles with practiced care, then wound bck wraps around her wrists and between her fingers. The motion was familiar, grounding. She flexed her hands twice, testing the tension.

  Satisfied, she grabbed her gloves and walked toward the door.

  When she opened it, she stopped cold.

  Noa stood there.

  She wore a midnight blue silk slip that caught the dim hallway light like deep water. The garment was cut simply, falling to mid-thigh, with a narrow line of bck ce along the neckline. Over it she wore a sheer bck robe that draped lightly from her shoulders, the translucent fabric revealing the soft outline of the dress beneath without fully exposing it. Her feet were bare against the polished floor, and her dark hair fell loose around her shoulders. The only visible jewelry was a thin silver chain at her throat.

  Liora blinked once.

  Noa did not move.

  “It’s time,” Noa said.

  Her voice was ft and even.

  Liora swallowed. “Now?”

  Noa inclined her head in a single confirming nod.

  Liora let out a short, humorless scoff. “You’ve got to be—”

  “Don’t bother changing,” Noa said.

  The words carried more weight than a raised voice would have.

  For a moment Liora considered smming the door. Another part of her thought about brushing past Noa and pretending the message had never been delivered. Instead she stepped aside.

  “Fine.”

  Noa entered the room without touching her and turned back toward the hall. The sheer robe whispered softly as she shifted, leaving space for Liora to step out beside her.

  They began walking.

  There was no ceremony, no comforting gesture, no attempt to soften the moment. Only the steady sound of Liora’s boots striking the polished stone floor.

  Halfway down the corridor, Liora finally broke the silence.

  “Did he ask for me?”

  “Yes.”

  A brief pause passed between them.

  “So you meant it,” Liora said quietly. “That you would be here for this.”

  “Yes,” Noa replied. “I gave you my word.”

  They turned toward the east wing. The atmosphere changed as they approached it. The air itself did not grow colder, but the space seemed heavier somehow, as though the walls held the memory of everything that had happened there before.

  Liora rolled her shoulders once and flexed her taped fingers.

  “I’m not Camille,” she said quietly.

  “I know.”

  “I’m not walking in there to be dismantled.”

  Noa stopped walking.

  Liora took two more steps before realizing she was alone. She turned back.

  Noa stood where she had halted, her expression calm and unreadable.

  “You won’t be dismantled,” she said. “You’ll be measured.”

  Liora let out a slow breath through her nose. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

  “No.”

  They resumed walking.

  When they reached the final turn before the east wing corridor, Liora’s stride faltered for a fraction of a second. The hesitation was small, but Noa noticed it.

  “You can still turn around,” Noa said.

  Liora’s head snapped toward her. “And do what? Pretend this isn’t coming?”

  Neither woman spoke for a moment.

  Then Noa said quietly, “You don’t walk in alone.”

  The words were simple and steady. They did not challenge the structure of the house or cim anything that did not belong to her. They simply grounded the moment.

  “And if I fail?” Liora asked.

  “You won’t.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  Noa stepped closer. The sheer fabric of her robe brushed lightly against Liora’s forearm.

  “If you fall,” Noa said softly, “I’m still here.”

  The words struck deeper than Liora expected.

  She studied Noa’s face, searching for hesitation or doubt, for any small crack that might allow her to retreat.

  There was none.

  The question slipped out before she could stop herself.

  “Do you love me?”

  For a moment Noa looked caught off guard. Her lips parted as if she might answer, then closed again. The silence sted just a little too long.

  Liora’s expression hardened immediately. “Forget it.”

  “No,” Noa said quickly. “I—”

  Footsteps echoed from somewhere deeper in the corridor.

  Both women froze.

  The sound was deliberate and unhurried, the measured pace of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

  Noa stepped back, her posture straightening as her composure returned.

  “It’s time,” she repeated more quietly.

  Liora drew in a slow breath and held it for a moment before letting it go. She flexed her wrapped fists again.

  “Storm,” she muttered under her breath.

  Then she walked forward.

  The chamber door waited ahead of her.

  Closed.

  Silent.

  Noa remained where she stood. She did not follow and did not call out.

  She only watched as Liora reached for the handle.

  And turned it.