The confrontation in the pocket world had left a residual chill in Khione's veins, a frost that no amount of steam could fully thaw. She had submerged herself in a long, scalding bath, the scent of jasmine and sandalwood filling the air, but the coldness in her heart was not so easily dispelled. It was a protective layer, forged by the princess's audacious claim. When she finally emerged, wrapped in a robe of silver silk, her expression in the mirror was as composed and unreadable as a frozen lake.
Yet, beneath the ice, a current of need flowed—a need for reassurance, for the quiet, grounding presence that only one person could provide.
A single, discreet message was all it took. No words, just a time and a place: the central fountain in the Leclair estate's main gardens. With the others still recovering from their late night or lost in their own training, their absence would go unnoticed. It was a stolen morning, a secret pocket of time that belonged only to them.
