The silence had become a living thing.
It followed Nadia through the compound like a second shadow — heavier than the first, colder, shaped exactly like her father. It sat beside her at meals she ate alone. It walked past her on the training paths. It occupied the chair across from her in the warriors' mess hall, the chair where Theodore used to sit, the chair that was now permanently empty because he had rearranged his entire schedule — training rotations, patrol assignments, meal times — to ensure that he never occupied the same space as his daughter for more than the time it took to walk through a door.
Three months and nine days.
That was how long since the click. The soft, precise, devastating click of Theodore Hale's door closing behind him — not slammed, because slams were emotio
