You’re the last one left in the corridor when you see him—standing outside the council chamber, dressed in formal armor that gleams like it belongs to someone else.

Kian’s posture is straighter than usual. There’s a new cloak over his shoulders, navy trimmed with silver. You’ve seen the color before—only the higher knights wear it.

He turns when he hears your footsteps. For a moment, he just smiles like always, like nothing’s changed. “You’re up early.”

“I could say the same,” you answer, glancing at the emblem pinned near his collar. “So it’s official then?”

He exhales, nodding once. “Commander of the Duke’s guard.”

You already knew, but hearing it from him makes it real. You manage a small smile. “Look at you, moving up in the world.”

He gives a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Feels strange. They made a whole ceremony of it yesterday. I kept thinking I was going to trip in front of the Duke.”

“Would’ve served you right,” you tease, though your chest feels tight. “He’s been grooming you for this for years.”

Kian studies you for a beat. “You’re not angry, are you?”

“Why would I be angry?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You tell me.”

You shrug, pretending to focus on straightening your apron. “I just—didn’t think it’d happen this soon.”

He nods slowly, like he understands what you mean without needing you to say it. Because you’ve always been side by side—same childhood streets, same manor halls, same long days serving people who never noticed you. He was the boy who used to sneak pastries from the kitchen just to share them with you behind the stables. You were the girl who patched up his uniform when he tore it training.

Now he’ll be dining with the Duke. You’ll still be clearing the plates.

“You’ll be staying near the main estate then,” you say.

“For now,” he replies. “There’s talk of sending me to the capital eventually.”

The capital. That single word feels like a crack through the floor beneath you.

He must see it in your face, because he adds softly, “Hey. I’m not leaving tomorrow.”

“But you will,” you whisper.

He steps closer, his voice quieter now. “You think I wanted this just for myself? You think I’d climb this high and forget the person who got me through it?”

You look up at him, the faint sunlight spilling across his face. “You’ll have new people. New rules. You’ll have to act like us—people like me—don’t exist.”

“That’s never going to happen.” His words are firm, like he needs you to believe them. “I don’t care about titles, I care about—”

He stops himself. The air goes still.

“About what?” you ask.

His jaw tightens. “About the people who matter.”

You both stand there, suspended in the space between what’s said and what isn’t. Someone calls his name from down the hall—a knight in matching colors, waiting.

Kian looks back at you once more, expression soft but pained. “I’ll find you later,” he says. “We’ll sneak down to the orchard like old times.”

You nod, even though you both know he won’t.

When he walks away, the sound of his boots echoes long after he’s gone. You stare at the empty corridor, at the patch of sunlight where he stood, and you realize—

This is how it happens. Not with a goodbye, but with a distance that grows every time you see him dressed in silver instead of steel.