Ayra entered the dining hall quietly.
Her face was calm.
Her heart was not.
The long table was already half full. The elders spoke in low voices. Warriors laughed at something near the far end. Servants moved in and practiced rhythm.
And at the head of the table,
Vincent.
Strong.
Straight-backed.
Commanding without effort.
He was listening to a report from one of the border guards. His expression was serious. Focused.
Not cruel.
Not arrogant.
Just powerful.
Ayra slowed her steps.
This time, she did not look at him with hope.
She looked at him with purpose.
If someone wanted her dead, she needed to know exactly where Vincent stood.
Was he truly unaware?
Was he being manipulated?
Or was there something deeper she had missed?
She took her seat two chairs away from him.
Close enough to observe.
Far enough to avoid attention.
Vincent finished listening to the guard.
"Increase patrols along the east ridge," he ordered calmly. "Rotate shifts every four hours. No gaps."
His voice was steady.
Efficient.
This was not a careless leader.
He anticipated threats.
Which made the successful rogue attacks even stranger.
If he was this careful, how had the enemy gotten so close?
Ayra lowered her gaze and pretended to focus on her plate.
But her ears remained alert.
"Also," Vincent continued, "double-check the guest list for the ceremony. No late additions without my approval."
Her heart skipped.
Guest list.
In the second life, the rogues had attacked openly during the ceremony.
That meant someone had known the timing.
Known the distractions.
Maybe someone had entered under false identity.
She glanced at Vincent.
He was already thinking ahead.
His instincts were sharp.
So why had he not sensed danger toward her specifically?
Unless,
Unless he did.
A memory flashed.
In the second life, during the ceremony, he had told her to remain inside.
His eyes had been tense.
Concerned.
That had not happened in the first life.
That meant her behavior changed his awareness.
Which meant,
Vincent reacted to her.
He was not controlling events blindly.
He was adjusting too.
Her chest tightened slightly.
She needed to know how much he truly knew.
Breakfast ended.
People began to stand.
Vincent rose last.
As always.
Authority radiated from him naturally.
He turned slightly,
And his eyes found her.
Instantly.
Not by accident.
Her breath caught.
He had been aware of her watching.
He walked toward her without hesitation.
Warriors parted slightly to let him pass.
Ayra kept her expression neutral.
"You look rested," he said evenly.
The words were simple.
But his gaze lingered longer than necessary.
He was studying her too.
"I slept," she replied calmly.
A lie.
He tilted his head slightly.
"As if you're measuring your words," he said quietly.
Her pulse jumped.
He noticed too much.
"I am careful with them," she answered.
A faint flicker of something crossed his eyes.
Approval?
Interest?
Or suspicion?
"You came to the council yesterday," he said.
Not a question.
A statement.
"Yes."
"You believe the ceremony is unsafe."
She held his gaze.
"I believe something is wrong."
There.
Not too much.
Not too little.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"What do you know?" he asked.
The question was sharp.
Direct.
Her heartbeat pounded painfully.
If she told him everything, would he think her unstable?
Or would he listen?
She chose her words carefully.
"I know that rogues are closer than we think," she said quietly.
His eyes darkened.
"That report has not been shared publicly."
Her stomach dropped.
So the information was restricted.
Which meant,
Someone leaking it could be exposed.
"I overheard whispers," she said quickly.
He studied her face intensely.
As if weighing truth against deception.
"You are afraid," he observed.
"Yes," she admitted.
That part was honest.
He stepped slightly closer.
Not threatening.
Protective.
"If anyone has approached you," he said low enough that others could not hear, "tell me."
The sincerity in his voice hit harder than expected.
In both deaths, he had reacted with fury.
With regret.
Not indifference.
Her chest tightened.
"I will," she said softly.
His gaze softened briefly.
Then hardened again.
"You will not wander alone this week," he added firmly.
A command.
Not cruel.
Protective.
Her breath caught.
In the first life, he had not said that.
In the second life, he had tried to stop her from leaving.
Now,
He was setting boundaries before the ceremony even happened.
The timeline was shifting.
Because she was shifting.
"Is that an order?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
No hesitation.
Strong.
Certain.
A strange warmth flickered in her chest.
Safety.
But she pushed it down.
She could not rely on him blindly.
Not yet.
He turned to leave.
Then paused.
"One more thing," he said without facing her. "If you intend to defy the ceremony publicly, prepare yourself."
Her stomach tightened.
So he remembered her resistance yesterday.
"I do not fear rejection," she said carefully.
His shoulders stiffened slightly.
"You should fear enemies more than pride," he replied.
Then he walked away.
Her thoughts spun rapidly.
Enemies.
He used the word openly.
He sensed something too.
But did he connect it to her?
Or only to the pack?
She stood slowly and walked toward the courtyard.
Her eyes followed him from a distance.
He moved through the training field with effortless authority.
Correcting stances.
Giving instructions.
Every warrior listened.
Every command obeyed.
Strong.
Respected.
Not a man easily deceived.
Which meant..
If someone inside the pack was plotting her death, they were skilled.
Careful.
Close.
A sudden memory surfaced.
In the second life, one rogue had said, "Orders are clear."
Clear.
Specific.
That meant the command came from someone confident enough to give detailed instructions.
Not a random rogue leader.
Someone who knew her schedule.
Knew the ceremony.
Knew Vincent's movements.
Her chest tightened again.
She needed to observe not just Vincent,
But who had access to him?
Who stood closest.
Who whispered in private.
As she watched from the edge of the courtyard, she noticed something subtle.
One of the senior advisors approached Vincent.
Spoke briefly.
Too briefly.
Vincent's expression shifted, just slightly.
Then I returned to calm.
The advisor walked away.
Ayra narrowed her eyes.
She did not remember that advisor being so present in the earlier timelines.
Or had she simply never paid attention?
Her fear began to settle into strategy.
She would not confront Vincent yet.
Not fully.
Not until she knew more.
But she would watch him.
Learn his patterns.
Understand his blind spots.
If he was being manipulated, she would find the thread.
If he was hiding something, she would uncover it.
Because one truth was now undeniable.
Every time she died,
He looked devastated.
That was not the face of a man who ordered her execution.
That was the face of a man who realized too late what he had lost.
Her heart ached slightly.
But she hardened it.
Emotion could wait.
Survival could not.
Vincent turned suddenly, as if sensing her gaze again.
Their eyes met across the courtyard.
This time, she did not look away.
And for the first time since the resets began
She saw something new in his expression.
No doubt.
Not distance.
Recognition.
As if he was beginning to realize
She was not the same girl he had rejected.
And neither was this week.