Jorell stands in the blue hush of twilight, his shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms dusted with gold from the day’s last light. He’s staring at an old love letter, its ink blurred by age, his brow furrowed in disbelief. His jaw, always so tense, is slack now. The ghost of some long-lost heartbreak flickers across his handsome, weary face. Selene hovers in the doorway, her hands twisting the hem of her indigo dress—she’s been crying, her eyes rimmed with red, lips trembling with hope or terror. She waits for him to speak, to look at her, to shatter or save her with whatever word comes next.

Jorell’s breath shudders out. “It’s all here,” he says, voice low and raw. “Every secret.” His gaze finally finds Selene, and the ache that passes between them is almost physical. Selene steps closer, so close the skirt of her dress brushes Jorell’s thigh. She searches his face, muscles fluttering in her jaw as if fighting not to break. “I know what it feels like to choose the wrong person and watch everything fall apart,” she whispers, her voice barely more than a confession. “But I won’t run from you—not now.”

A long, ragged silence. Jorell’s fingers twitch at his side. He wants to reach for her but he’s scared of wanting anything at all.

Down the hall, Vyra stalks the marble floor in sharp-shouldered midnight velvet. Her hair—sleek and meticulously swept back—looks almost like armor, but tonight, her eyes are swollen, makeup smudged. She finds refuge on the rooftop garden, her heels forgotten somewhere behind her, feet bare against the chill stone. She hugs her arms around herself, posture rigid, fighting the urge to sob. Tomas finds her there. He’s laughing softly at first, hands shoved in the pockets of his too-big suit jacket, but the sound fades when he sees her face. He crouches next to her, his touch feather-light on her shoulder.

“Vyra,” he murmurs, “you don’t have to keep holding it together for people who already let you down.” The words unravel something in her. She presses her face into trembling hands, shoulders shaking, lashes spiked with tears. “It’s all for nothing, Tomas,” she chokes out. “Everything I did, every lie... and he still doesn’t want me.”

Jorell stares at Selene, sees the vulnerability shimmering in her eyes. She’s wearing hope like a bruise, and he wants to believe in her. She steps forward again—heartbeats flutter in her throat—and says, voice steady for once, “I want you to know the whole truth. I want to do this right.” Her hand finds his, fingers trembling, slow and searching. His fingers close around hers, hesitant, but the touch sparks something alive. His other hand rises to cup her jaw, thumb brushing the salt from her cheek.

In the garden, Vyra’s tears slow. Tomas leans his head against hers, his own eyes misted. “You matter, Vyra. Even when you’re not winning.” She laughs, brittle and small, but leans into his warmth. “I don’t even know who I am outside of this place,” she breathes. “I think maybe I need to find out.” Tomas squeezes her hand, his own longing folded deep and silent.

Back in the library, Jorell and Selene stand inches apart. Every muscle in Jorell’s body is taut. “You broke me,” he says, but his voice is gentle, his forehead pressed to hers. “But you’re the only one who ever bothered to see me.” Selene’s eyes close, lashes fluttering, chest rising as she dares to hope. He kisses her—not with hunger, but with something softer, desperate for forgiveness.

Then, footsteps sound in the corridor. Vyra stands in the doorway, her silhouette stark against the moonlight. There’s something wild and reckless in her eyes as she looks from Jorell to Selene. She tosses a folded check onto the desk—Selene recognizes the sum instantly. Her family’s debts, paid. “Don’t thank me,” Vyra says, voice sharp and breaking. “It wasn’t for you. It’s just time for me to leave.”

No one moves. The only sound is Selene’s choked gasp. Vyra’s gaze lingers on Jorell one last time—her mask dropping, pain etched deeply into every line of her face. Then she turns and walks away, out of Linvale, barefoot and trembling.

Jorell whispers, “What happens now?”

But before Selene can answer, the security alarm blares—shattering the quiet. Red strobes flicker, bathing their faces in warning. Tomas sprints in, breathless, panic in his eyes. “Someone’s broken into the west wing. And—someone’s still inside.”

To be continued...