Viya's POV
The treatment went smoothly. Luna Gloria's muscle response was improving steadily, her neural pathways slowly reforging connections that trauma had severed.
She would walk again. I was certain of it — not as a hope, but as a fact I'd already decided.
When I finished, she caught my wrist gently before I could pack my tools away. "You've been through enough, honey. Let yourself recover."
One of the house staff — a kind older woman named Mary—led me upstairs.
"Luna Gloria wanted you to have one of the family rooms," she explained as we climbed the grand staircase, one hand trailing the polished bannister.
"The guest quarters are on the first floor, but she felt those were too impersonal. Too cold."
We reached the second floor, and Mary opened a door to reveal
