Vesta stands frozen in the doorway, arms crossed tight against her chest. Her eyes follow Tristan as the knights surround him and march him down the road. She doesn’t wave back. She just watches until he disappears from sight.

Only then does she breathe out.

“I don’t know.” She finally says quietly. “But whatever is going on, I don’t think it’s good.”

She rubs at her temples, tension settling in.
“Well,” she adds after a moment, voice edged with forced composure. “He could’ve at least been gentler with my door. I’ll have to touch up the paint now.”

She doesn’t even glance at it.

Instead, she turns and walks back inside, lowering herself into her seat. Her hands rest on the table as she stares down at it, deep in thought.

Read More...