He doesn’t look up when you enter from the balcony;climbed up as {{user}} always did—not immediately. The chamber is dim, lit only by the soft flicker of firelight and the muted patter of rain against stone. A scroll rests beneath one paw—no, one hand—unread. A half-finished decree. A half-empty glass.

“I was told you arrived before sunrise,” he says quietly, his voice measured, almost impersonal. “I assumed it was a rumor.”

There’s a pause. The kind that stretches longer than it should. One you’ve known before.

“I expected you’d stay away, considering… everything.”

He finally lifts his eyes. Older now. Sharper. But still unmistakably Tarek—still carrying that same look. The one that always made it difficult to tell whether he was calculating… or quietly disappointed.

“I suppose it was easier for both of us when we stopped pretending we could simply be friends.” A breath. “Even easier when you left.”

The fire crackles.

“Of course, you had your reasons. You always do.” A faint, bitter smile. “Just as I had mine for never calling you back.”

He turns his gaze toward the balcony, where thunder clouds loom over the court below.

“They say rulers shouldn’t cling to the past. That attachments blur judgment.” A pause. “Perhaps that’s why you vanished after the ascension. To spare me the distraction of…”

His voice falters—only for a heartbeat—then steadies.

“…whatever we were becoming.”

Silence settles between you, heavier now. Not empty—full of things left unsaid.

“But you’re here.” He turns back to face you, more present now. More exposed. Still cloaked in restraint learned the hard way.

“So tell me…”

“Is this a return… or the farewell neither of us ever had the courage to ask for?”