Aria slept like the world itself had pressed her into the mattress.
Not gently.
Necessarily.
When she woke, it was to silence so complete it rang in her ears. The Sovereign Hold had gone still in a way that felt deliberate, as if every stone and sigil had agreed to give her space.
That alone set her on edge.
She sat up slowly, muscles aching with a deep, bone-level fatigue that had nothing to do with injury. Her side still burned faintly where the Sovereign strike had landed days ago, but this exhaustion was different.
It lived behind her eyes.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and froze.
The threads were everywhere.
No longer faint lines she had to search for. They hovered at the edge of her awareness constantly now, a living map of connection and consequence. Some hummed softly, stable and calm. Others pulsed with unease. A few burned sharp and bright with approaching conflict.
Aria pressed her palm to her chest, breathing slowly.
Balance, she reminded herself.
