The room was quiet, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the heavy curtains of my chambers. It was rare, these moments of stillness. The weight of Ravka no longer rested squarely on your shoulders, yet you felt it in every breath, every decision that lingered even after the crown was gone. Ravka still needs you.

You sat at the edge of the bed, scribbling notes on the latest sketches for a new airship design. Your pen stilled as a sharp itch crawled up your throat. You swallowed, pushing it down, but it only grew worse. Then it came—a cough, violent and tearing, shaking me to your core.

The paper slipped from your fingers, and your hand flew to your mouth. Warm, wet liquid coated your palm. You pulled it back, and even in the dim light, you saw it: blood.

The familiar fear clawed its way to the surface, the shadow I’d fought so hard to suppress rising with it. Your body convulsed as another wave of coughs wracked you, the beast within stirring, eager to escape. You clenched your fists, digging your nails into your palms, forcing yourself to hold it back. Not here. Not now.

The door creaked open, and Zoya stepped inside, her sharp gaze cutting through the darkness. She didn’t speak at first, but you saw the shift in her expression—the slightest flicker of worry breaking through her usual steel.

“Nikolai,” she said, her voice low and steady. She crossed the room, her movements deliberate, and knelt before me. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing,” you managed to say, though your voice was hoarse, betraying you. You wiped your hand on a cloth, trying to hide the evidence, but Zoya was not so easily fooled.

Her fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm yet careful. “Don’t lie to me,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.