The road stretched endlessly ahead, pale with dust and morning light.
Mary sat by the carriage window, shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, though the chill she felt had nothing to do with the air. Thomas slept fitfully beside her, exhaustion finally pulling him under after the long night and the fear that still clung to him like a second skin.
But Mary could not rest.
Her eyes traced the passing fields without seeing them. Every mile felt like a quiet betrayal.
Isabelle is alone, she thought.
Surrounded by power she never wanted… or wanted too much.
They had left without seeing her face one last time. Without asking the questions that burned her tongue. Without answers.
Mary pressed her forehead lightly against the glass.
Was Isabelle safe?
Was she trapped again?
Or had she chosen a path Mary could no longer follow?
And beneath all of it—deeper, more dangerous—was the question Mary had never spoken aloud.
Did she feel it too?
Her mind betrayed her, slipping backward to a memory she had tried and failed to bury.
A summer evening.
The windows open.
The house quiet for once.
They had been younger then—softer around the edges, unaware of how cruel the world could be.
Isabelle had been laughing at something trivial, leaning close, too close, her hair loose around her shoulders. Mary remembered noticing the way the light caught in her eyes, how suddenly the room felt too small.
"You're staring," Isabelle had teased.
Mary had meant to look away.
She hadn't.
The silence that followed had been fragile, trembling with something unnamed. Isabelle's smile faded—not into discomfort, but into awareness.
"Mary," she had whispered, uncertain.
Mary didn't remember deciding. Only the moment her hand lifted, fingers brushing Isabelle's wrist, and how Isabelle didn't pull away.
Their kiss had been brief. Hesitant. Almost innocent.
And yet—
It had felt like crossing a line drawn inside her long before she knew it existed.
Isabelle had pulled back first, breath unsteady, eyes wide with fear and wonder. "We shouldn't," she'd said, voice shaking.
Mary had nodded. She had agreed.
They never spoke of it again.
But from that day on, everything had changed.
Every glance lingered too long.
Every touch carried weight.
Every sacrifice cut deeper.
The carriage jolted slightly, snapping Mary back to the present. Her throat tightened.
Maybe that's why Isabelle pushed me away, she thought.
Not to hurt me… but to protect me.
Or maybe Isabelle had already chosen a world where love—this kind of love—had no place.
Mary closed her eyes, tears slipping free despite her effort.
"Wherever you are," she whispered silently, "don't let it destroy you."
The road curved, the city finally disappearing behind them.
But some bonds, Mary knew now, didn't weaken with distance.
They only waited.
And somewhere far behind stone walls and careful lies, Isabelle stood at a window of her own, staring at the same sky—
—haunted by a kiss she could never undo, and a love she had decided the world must never discover.