|| Lilac’s POV ||

The days blurred together in a haze of ink-stained fingers and late-night study sessions. Dad’s office had become my refuge—the scent of old books and coffee grounding me as I poured over pack ledgers and border reports. Numbers, treaties, supply routes—things I’d never cared about in my past life now consumed me.

Dad watched me with quiet pride, his usual stern expression softening whenever I asked a question.

"You're going cross-eyed, ...