We had been driving in Kenzo’s car for over an hour, the hum of the engine the only sound breaking the silence. I didn’t say a word, too consumed by the memory of my last glimpse of the Palace and the faces I’d left behind. I kept hoping they would understand why I couldn’t say goodbye, that they might someday forgive me for walking away without explanation—and for choosing this path.

Kenzo’s glances toward me were frequent, his concern evident, but he didn’t push for ...