[Lavinia's POV—Dawnspire Wing—Later]
The room smelled faintly of ink and old parchment.
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows in pale ribbons, catching dust motes that drifted lazily—mocking how violently the night had unraveled. I stood near the table, arms crossed, jaw tight, while Rey paced slowly, fingers flicking through the teacup.
"So," I said at last, breaking the silence, my voice sharper than I intended, "what did you find out?"
Rey stopped. His expression shifted—no humor, no arrogance. Just gravity.
"The daughter of House Valencourt," he said carefully, "died in a carriage accident."
My breath stilled.
"A carriage accident?" I asked.
"Yes, that's right," he replied. "Her child was four years old when she finally succumbed. Fever. Internal injuries. Old wounds that never healed properly."
My fingers curled against my sleeves.
"…Four," I murmured.
Rey nodded. "Yes. And before you ask—yes, the coincidence is far too precise to ignore."
