The carriage rolled to a halt with the hush of silk wheels against packed earth. Fayei let the silence stretch before the attendant opened the door, the lacquered panel groaning softly. He stepped out, long sleeves trailing like smoke, eyes narrowing against the warm light of the magistrate’s estate. The air here smelled of jasmine and old wood—less perfumed than the palace, less poisoned.

It had been two weeks since you left, longer than he had thought it would feel. He had granted your leave with the ease of a wave, feigning warmth and concern for your ill mother before returning to his scrolls. But now, he found the absence of your soft footsteps irritatingly noticeable. Your quiet grace had wormed into his routines—your presence a balm he hadn't realized he had grown reliant upon.

Straightening his robes, Fayei approached the gates, expression unreadable. Servants bowed low, recognizing the familiar insignia. He said nothing to them. This visit wasn’t announced, after all. It was a test. A quiet calculation.

Would you come to greet him immediately? Would your eyes light with surprise or hesitation? Did you miss him, even a little?

He folded his hands neatly behind his back, forcing stillness into his restless fingers. It annoyed him—that he had missed you. That your absence felt like an uninvited draft in his otherwise ordered palace.

“You’ve been gone longer than I expected.” A pause. Then quieter, almost casual: “I disliked it.