The letter lay open on the desk, its creased edges betraying how many times it had been read.

Allira Salo stood over it, silent.

I pushed you because I was afraid. I tore you apart because I didn't know how to let someone stay. And I'm sorry.

The words felt no less raw now than when he'd written them. A man like him wasn't meant to write apologies. He gave orders. Built influence. Won battles. Yet he'd written this one anyway.

It had been meant to stay buried beneath legislation and reports. Forgotten.

Instead, someone had found it.

The room was quiet, scented faintly with perfume—or memory. No accusation had followed. No confrontation.

Just silence.

Good.

Let them know that beneath the ambition and control, there had once been something human left in him.

Even if it was far too late to matter.