Mia Ashford turned without a word and left.
It was the smallest motion — a loose thread pulled from a tapestry — but it carried with it a silence so loud it made the whole courtyard reel. Students who had leaned forward vanished back into their seats. Conversations that had filled the air a second before stopped mid-breath. Leon stood frozen, the last syllable of his confession still hanging between them like mist, and watched her go.
For a heartbeat he let himself hope she might answer. A single look, a tremor of a smile, anything to tell him the courage he had shown meant something. But she kept walking, shoulders steady, eyes fixed ahead.
He should have let her go. He should have turned away and let her choose her path. He had chosen a terrible, brave thing already—left a throne, shattered a future—so if she wanted nothing to do with him, he could live with the pain. He had done the impossible before. He could suffer again.
