The room was suffocating.
Ava sat rigid in her chair, fingers curled over the armrests, nails biting into the wood. The firelight flickered weakly, casting long, ghostly shadows against the stone walls.
She had spent so much time trapped here. Trapped in her own body.
And she hated it.
A shift in the air.
A presence.
Ava tensed.
She hadn't heard him enter.
But she felt him.
A voice, smooth as velvet, slick as oil—broke the silence.
"You look troubled, precious star."
Ava's stomach twisted.
Mormont.
He stood near the window, half-hidden in the dim glow of candlelight, his expression unreadable. Like a shadow that had always been there, simply waiting for her to notice.
Ava straightened, gripping the arms of her chair. How long had he been watching?
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't call me that."
The Mormont only chuckled.
"Ah. The fire still burns, even when the body breaks."
His voice was infuriating—mocking, taunting, curling around her like smoke.
