The stone corridors of the bastion were quiet in the late hour, lit by soft, recessed glow-panels. Lysandra led the way, her steps light on the polished floor. “This is the east residential wing,” she said, her voice a gentle guide in the hush. “All the family suites are here. Less marble, more lived-in wood.” She pointed out a tapestry, a gallery of portraits, a small conservatory filled with night-blooming flowers as they walked. For Laura, the tour was a blur of opulent normality, each familiar luxury a sharp reminder of the home she’d lost. She followed, her focus divided between the path ahead and the persistent, low-grade hum of vigilance in her veins.

When Lysandra finally pushed open the carved double doors to her chambers, it felt like entering a different world entirely. It was a spacious suite, all warm woods and soft textiles. A sitting area with overstuffed chairs and shelves of real books gave way to a dining nook and, through a wide arch, a sleeping chamber dominated by a large canopied bed.

“Home,” Lysandra announced, smiling. “And yours, for now.”

Laura hovered at the threshold of the bedroom. “Thank you, Lady Lysandra. The couch in the sitting area looks perfectly comfortable for me.”

Lysandra turned, her expression one of amused disbelief. “The couch? Absolutely not. The bed is enormous. We’ll both fit easily.” She grinned. “And please, call me Lysa. ‘Lady Lysandra’ is for stuffy dinners. I think we’re about the same age, which means we’re friends now. No arguments.”

The simple, unwavering kindness in her tone—the instant claim of friendship—struck a chord deep in Laura’s chest, a note of warmth in the cold isolation of her disguise. A genuine, small smile touched her lips. “Lysa,” she repeated, the name feeling like a tentative key to a locked room.

“See? Easy.” Lysa walked into the chamber, gesturing around. “This is all mine. Make yourself at home. Truly.” She moved to a massive wardrobe and swung the doors open, revealing rows of colorful tunics, soft trousers, and elegant dresses. “Borrow anything you like. I’ve got plenty.” She glanced back, her gaze thoughtful. “And… you can take all that off, if you want. I assume it comes off? It doesn’t look… permanent.”

Laura’s hand flew to the high neckline of the Myrden suit. The offer of physical relief was profoundly tempting. To shed the second skin, even briefly. …