Cassandra walked half a step behind him, her mind spiraling. Every leaf crackle felt like a countdown. Her chest tightened with every step.
"What… exactly are you going to tell her?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
"The truth," he said, not slowing. "All of it."
"She'll hate me."
"She'll love you more."
"You don't know that."
He stopped, turning to face her. "I do."
Their eyes met again. There was no hesitation in his—only certainty.
Cassandra took a deep breath, her eyes darting toward the training ground of Percival Mansion, which was mostly used by the training knights. But today, Christina was also there, doing her daily morning drills—hitting a practice dummy and swinging her sword.
She stood with her back turned to the entrance, hammering her wooden practice sword against a battered training dummy. Her strikes were relentless, precise—each one a release, a breath.
She didn't notice them at first. But the others did.
