The night passed—
or rather, it didn't.
She lay still in her chamber, eyes half open, watching the faint blue trace of the ceiling's chrono-lights shift from night mode to dawn mode, every hue calibrated to mimic natural light patterns. Yet her body didn't respond. The rhythm was wrong. The pulse that usually lulled her to sleep—the one she'd been trained to synchronize her breathing with—felt foreign.
Sleep had come in fragments. Not rest. Just fragments.
Moments of drifting, interrupted by flickers.
Soundless images—
A door closing.
A hand brushing past her shoulder.
A voice.
Not a dream. Never a dream. She didn't dream. She wasn't supposed to.
Elysia opened her eyes fully. The clock read 05:12 AM.
Her breathing was calm. Too calm. It was the calmness of someone pretending.
She sat up. Sheets folded perfectly despite her movement—habit. She swung her legs off the bed, feet touching the cold marble floor, and paused for half a second before standing.
Something… was off.
