Scarlett’s POV

Morning arrives softly, like it’s afraid to disturb what the night finally loosened.

Sunlight slips through the tall windows of the east corridor, pale and hesitant, warming the stone beneath my bare feet. I pause there longer than necessary, breathing in the quiet. The packhouse feels different today. Not lighter—nothing has been light for a long time—but steadier. As if the walls themselves have stopped bracing for impact.

I tell myself that means something. I follow ...