"She's not here." Her father, too quick, pitched too high. "She's just a girl. She wouldn't understand?—"
"There has to be some mistake." Her mother’s voice cracking.
"It's already too late."
Her father let out a sound like the air had been punched out of him.
Then her mother screamed his name.
Then nothing.
Brynn had stood frozen, hand pressed over her mouth to keep from making a sound. Her mind refused to process what she'd heard. Couldn't be real. Couldn't be?—
"Find the girl." The cold voice again, unhurried. "She can't have gone far."
Boots on stone. Coming toward the alley.
She ran.
She'd told herself she would circle back. Would find help. Would explain everything once she understood what was happening.
She never saw them again.
Brynn pressed her face into the pillow, fighting the sob building in her chest. She'd cried enough last night. Had broken down alone in her room, learning that her parents weren't just dead. They were caught in that accusation forever.
And she couldn't even try to reach them. Could only carry the knowledge that somewhere in this realm, they existed in eternal anguish, calling out for the daughter they believed had destroyed them.
Maybe she should have let him keep this truth from her.
No. She shook her head against the pillow. She'd needed to know. Had a right to know.
Even if it was destroying her.
And then he'd given her ward construction. She'd been reeling from the worst news of her life, and he'd pivoted to investigation strategy like she was just another item on his agenda.
Nothing between them. Just a tool for fixing wards.
She'd offered him everything. Had stood there breaking and asked him to try. And he'd looked her in the eye and told her she was nothing.
Fine.
If that's what he wanted, that's what he'd get. She could be nothing. Could be exactly the cold, professional tool he'd reduced her to.
The twilight outside had shifted from deep purple to pale lavender. Soon, servants would arrive with schedules and formalities, and she'd have to face the day.
Face him.
She rolled over, catching a faint trace of roses from the garden on her pillow.
She needed to stop. He'd made his choice perfectly clear.
A sharp knock cut through her thoughts.
"Come in," she called, grateful for the interruption.
A death knight entered, hollow eye sockets fixed on her with neutral precision. "Lady Brynn. Lord Reaper requests your presence in the transport chamber. Today's diplomatic visit to the Court of the Mourned will proceed as scheduled."
Court business. Of course.
