The bed was wider than Savina expected, dressed in pale linen that smelled faintly of vender and steam. She y on her back, robe damp against her skin, muscles taut as if she were bracing for a fight that hadn’t come. Noa had obeyed The Mistress’s parting words. She hadn’t spoken much. She simply sat at Savina’s side, still robed, still damp, her presence quiet and unhurried.

  It was not an interrogation. It was not a test. It was simply… presence. And that was what made Savina’s chest feel tight. She stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched. Her thoughts rattled like steel on stone.

  "I could fight her. I could order her out. I could prove I don’t need anyone in this bed but me."

  But her body didn’t move.

  She shifted restlessly against the pillows, the linen whispering beneath her. Every so often her gaze flicked sideways, catching the outline of Noa in the low light, calm and steady, hands resting loosely in her p. No judgment. No demand. Just waiting.

  Savina swallowed hard. The words burned her throat before she forced them free.

  “Don’t just sit there.”

  Noa turned, eyes steady. She didn’t speak. She didn’t press. She waited.

  Savina’s lips parted, pride warring with the weight in her chest. The next words slipped out softer, almost broken.

  “Lay beside me… please.”

  The word please cost her more than she wanted to admit. Noa did not question. She eased onto the bed, settling beside Savina. Their robes brushed. The space between them felt vast despite the closeness — vast because it was not yet crossed.

  Savina turned her face toward her, the words low, raw.

  “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

  Noa’s answer was quiet, certain.

  “Because I’ve already been broken. You don’t frighten me. You remind me.”

  The reply nded heavier than Savina wanted it to. She swallowed again, her throat tight, and looked back to the ceiling. For the first time in years, she exhaled without holding it back.

  Their hands touched by accident in the dark — the brush of damp knuckles, a fleeting contact. Savina didn’t pull away. Neither did Noa.

  Noa whispered, her voice steady, unyielding in its softness.

  “Rest. I’ll stay.”

  Savina closed her eyes. She didn’t sleep, not yet, but the trembling in her chest finally eased.

  It was not surrender.

  Not love.

  Not even peace.

  But it was the first imprint.

  And that would never fade.