Valerie remained standing in the very same spot even after the coat was placed neatly back on the chair as if it had never been touched, as if it had never held any secret at all.
But her heart did not know how to pretend.
Lena's words about the caravan kept circling in her mind. About traveling with the witches. About leaving this land, leaving the castle, leaving… Demian. Something felt wrong every time she thought about it. Not merely fear of the unfamiliar, but a deeper sensation like she would be walking away at the exact moment something had just begun to change.
That afternoon was quiet. Orange light slipped through the window of the chamber, stretching long shadows across the stone floor. Valerie had only just entered when her gaze fell upon Demian's coat lying over the chair the dark coat he often wore whenever he left the territory.
She hadn't intended anything. Truly, she hadn't.
