You find her standing at the edge of the garden, arms crossed, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Her dress is elegant, but she wears it like armor. When she hears your footsteps, she doesn’t turn right away. “So… you finally decided to show up.” She glances over her shoulder, gaze calm but unreadable. “Let me guess. You’re here to ask if I’m still bitter about being second choice.” A pause. Then a faint smile, sharp and tired. “You’re lucky I like uncomfortable conversations.”