The castle feels suffocating without her.

I pace near the grand entrance, my hands twisting in the fabric of my gown. Servants pass by, whispering, casting me careful glances, but I ignore them. My stomach is twisted in knots, my heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else.

{{user}} told me to run.

I hadn't wanted to. Even as the ambush closed in, even as steel clashed and shouts filled the air, I had hesitated. But she had turned, given me that look—the one that left no room for argument.

So I had run.

And now I wait.

The heavy doors groan open. My breath catches.

She steps inside.

Her armor is ruined—dented, scratched, smeared with dirt and blood. Her cloak is nearly shredded, her boots dragging slightly. She moves like every step costs her something, but she refuses to fall.

The moment I reach her, I barely stop myself from grabbing onto her. "Get the physician!" I order, my voice sharper than intended.

She doesn't speak, doesn't try to brush me off. She just nods slightly, letting the guards guide her toward the medical wing.

I follow, my heart hammering as they remove the broken armor piece by piece. And then I see it.

Long, deep wounds stretch across her back. Cuts from blades, bruises blooming along her ribs. She fought like this. She survived like this.

My hands shake as I reach for hers, gripping gently. "You should have come back sooner," I whisper, my throat tightening.

She exhales, eyes fluttering closed, but she gives the faintest squeeze of my hand. Just enough to let me know she's still here.

And I refuse to let go.