The Ashthorn estate had changed.
Where once it had echoed with formality and restraint, it now pulsed with movement—servants moving with urgency, letters arriving by the hour, and unfamiliar carriages parked discreetly at the edge of the property. Evelyne had turned her home into a fortress of secrets.
And in the center of it all, she stood like a storm waiting to break.
In her study, the map of the capital was now crowded with markers sigils of houses she'd shaken, weakened, or begun to sway. Every move was a scar in the making.
Julian entered without knocking. He looked older now, less reckless. He had stopped calling this madness.
Because he'd started to believe in it.
"You got another message," he said, dropping the scroll on her desk. "From the Duchess of Severin."
"She's decided?" Evelyne asked without looking up.
"She has. She's with you."
Evelyne paused.
The duchess had once held Evelyne's hand at her mother's funeral. She had also said nothing when Evelyne was dragged through the court as a traitor.
Another knife. Another ally. The difference was time.
Julian lowered his voice. "This… this isn't just a rebellion anymore, Evelyne. This is becoming a movement."
She looked up at him then, tired but unwavering. "Good. Because I'm not just here to tear down a few liars, Julian. I'm here to bury the entire system that let them thrive."
He leaned against the doorframe, watching her.
"You're not the same girl," he said quietly.
"No," Evelyne replied. "That girl died in fire. I'm what came after."
Later that evening, Evelyne stepped into the manor's private garden. It had once been her mother's sanctuary a place of roses, herbs, and quiet.
Now, it was overgrown. Wild. Beautiful in its disobedience.
She ran her fingers along the edge of a thorn bush, unflinching as the skin broke.
A voice behind her: "You always did find poetry in pain."
Evelyne turned.
Rowan stood there, hands in his coat, smile crooked as ever.
"You came," she said.
"You called," he shrugged.
There was silence. Then "Why?" she asked. "After everything?"
He didn't answer at first. Just stepped closer, gaze softer than she expected.
"Because I remember who you were before they broke you. And I want to see who you become when you're the one holding the hammer."
She didn't smile.
But she didn't push him away.
He offered his hand.
And this time, she took it.
Because Evelyne Ashthorn was done mourning what she'd lost.
Now, she was learning how to build with ruin.