The request arrives midmorning, wrapped in courtesy.
An elder would like a private word.
Not in the council chamber.
Not in Landon’s office.
In one of the smaller sitting rooms near the east wing where sunlight pools across rugs and tea is poured into porcelain cups thin enough to make everything feel delicate.
It is meant to feel safe.
That is the first warning.
I shower before I go.
Long enough for the steam to fog the mirror completely, long enough for my skin to flush pink beneath water that runs hotter than necessary. I wash my hair once and then again, not because it needs it, but because repetition steadies my hands. I brush my teeth until my gums sting faintly and rinse slowly, watching the water spiral down the drain as if it might take tension with it.
It does not.
I br
