Morning had already settled in by the time I noticed it.
Not arrived—settled.
It didn't push its way into the room. It didn't announce itself with brightness or sound. It had simply… taken hold. Quietly. Completely.
Sunlight stretched through the tall windows in long, even bands. It didn't glare. It didn't scatter. It rested—across the polished wood floor, along the edges of tables, across the backs of chairs where it stayed without shifting too quickly.
The light felt warm.
Not hot.
Just enough to sit on the skin and remain.
The floor held it well. The wood absorbed it without reflection, softening its edges. Even the walls seemed to keep it in place, preventing it from spreading too far.
The air carried it.
That, and the scent.
Bread.
Fresh.
Not sharp—just present. Warm yeast and faint sweetness drifting steadily from deeper in the building. Tea followed it. Bitter, earthy, grounding. The two mixed without clashing, settling low in the room.
The space breathed quietly.
Staff moved between tables in measured steps. Their shoes made almost no sound against the floor. Trays stayed level, wrists steady, shoulders relaxed. Nothing rattled. Nothing clinked louder than necessary.
A cup touched a saucer.
Soft.
Contained.
Voices stayed low.
Foreigners and merchants sat side by side, conversations flowing in restrained tones. Hands moved when needed—small gestures, nothing exaggerated. Even laughter came filtered, reduced before it could rise too far.
Decorum wasn't enforced.
It was expected.
And followed.
"We can stay."
The words left before I fully caught them.
My chair tilted back.
One leg scraped lightly against the floor—just enough to break the rhythm. The sound cut across the room sharper than expected.
I caught the edge of the table.
My grip tightened briefly, steadying the movement before the chair tipped too far. The wood pressed back against my fingers, solid, grounding.
A few heads turned.
Just enough.
Eyes flicked toward me, assessed, then moved away again.
No one held the moment.
It dissolved almost immediately.
"I mean… this region is under our jurisdiction."
Mr David didn't look up.
His spoon lifted smoothly from the bowl. Steam curled faintly as it moved. He took a measured sip, lips barely parting, then lowered it again.
Porcelain met ceramic.
A soft click.
Nothing more.
"It is?"
Heiwa paused.
Her spoon hovered halfway to her mouth. The surface of the soup trembled slightly with the motion, then stilled as her hand stopped.
Her gaze shifted fully to him.
"Yes."
Mr Kamon lifted his teacup.
The movement was unhurried. Fingers balanced the handle lightly, wrist steady. He took a sip, then returned it to the saucer.
The cup touched down with a faint, controlled sound.
"I am stationed here."
Then why—
"Then why did we have to go all the way to the other province?"
I stirred my tea.
The liquid turned in slow circles, catching a thin strip of sunlight before settling back into stillness.
Mr Kamon broke a piece of bread.
The crust gave with a soft crack. Crumbs gathered near his fingers before falling lightly onto the plate.
"Well."
He brought it to his mouth.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
"That's where the liaison building is."
He reached for his cup again.
"Therian—or any country, really—wouldn't want it everywhere."
I leaned back slightly.
Not enough to draw attention.
Just enough for the chair to shift under me, redistributing weight.
We need you—but not here.
The thought stayed where it landed.
Heavy.
Quiet.
The liaison building.
Placed where it could function.
Not where it could exist.
I glanced toward the window.
The light had shifted.
Barely.
Still warm.
Still steady.
Still distant.
"Where is Miss Alvie?"
I brought my attention back to the table.
Her absence sat there.
Expected.
But present.
"Likely still asleep."
Mr David paused between words.
Not for effect.
Just enough to sip his tea again.
Unbothered.
"Oh."
I let it go.
Heiwa glanced at me.
Then sighed.
Not loudly.
But enough to be felt.
"What of Lord Morgenstahl and Miss Krämer?"
I adjusted my cup slightly, aligning it with the edge of the table without thinking.
"Aren't they joining us?"
"They are."
Mr Kamon's gaze shifted toward the entrance.
A small smile touched his expression.
"Miss Krämer informed me they would be joining us for—"
"There they are."
Movement.
Subtle.
At the edge of the room.
It didn't interrupt.
It adjusted.
Conversations softened—not stopping, just lowering. Chairs straightened. Postures corrected themselves without instruction.
Space opened.
Naturally.
Status moved through the room like pressure.
"Good morning, Lord Morgenstahl. Miss Krämer."
We stood.
Chairs slid back.
This time—no scrape.
Just controlled motion.
Albrecht von Morgenstahl inclined his head.
Measured.
Minimal.
Elise Krämer stepped beside him.
Her movements were precise. She adjusted the setting at his place before sitting—cutlery aligned, napkin placed correctly, everything set without pause.
We sat again.
The rhythm returned.
Plates shifted.
Cutlery moved.
Breakfast continued.
For a while, no one spoke.
The room filled with small sounds.
Porcelain touching porcelain.
Cloth brushing against wood.
Breath.
I lifted my coffee.
The heat reached my fingers before the cup did. Warmth spread across my palm as I adjusted my grip.
I took a sip.
Bitter.
Clean.
It settled quickly.
"Lord Morgenstahl."
I lowered the cup.
"A question."
His attention moved to me.
Not sharply.
Just… there.
"Who is Lady Seliregina?"
The name settled into the space.
No one reacted.
Not visibly.
But the pause—
It held.
Morgenstahl lifted his tea.
Steam curled upward as he took a sip. His movements stayed unhurried, controlled.
He set the cup down.
"No."
A faint smile formed.
"We are not related."
Heiwa shifted beside me.
"My Lord, forgive her if that was—"
He raised a hand.
Small.
Enough.
She stopped.
"Not at all."
His gaze dipped briefly toward his cup.
"I was just as curious when I was younger."
Then back up.
"So… he does know."
The thought barely formed before—
A sharp nudge under the table.
Heiwa's foot.
I stilled.
"Her name is Elise Edelstein."
Morgenstahl adjusted his grip on the cup slightly.
"Her father—House von Edelstein—traces back to an old Altharic-Lysorian lineage."
He paused.
"Or a Draken noble who adopted the 'von' name. Records vary."
Miss Krämer didn't react.
Her fork moved steadily. She cut into her food, lifted it, ate—no change in pace.
"Her mother was a Carmesian noblewoman."
The spoon in his cup moved.
Soft circles.
"The kind who believes names should mean something when spoken aloud."
The table shifted.
Not physically.
Attention sharpened.
Heiwa's spoon remained suspended, forgotten.
"Even her origin is… debated."
Morgenstahl's voice stayed even.
"Some claim her mother was a hero, later adopted into her Carmesian line."
I felt a faint smile form.
Heiwa hadn't blinked.
"Others believe there was intention behind the name Seliregina itself."
He looked up.
Thinking.
Then—
"You will not just exist. You will be seen."
Miss Krämer spoke.
Calm.
Even.
She didn't look up as she cut into her sausage.
The words settled between us.
Placed.
"Although," she added, lifting her cup slightly, "we address her as Lady Elise Edelstein."
Morgenstahl gave a small nod.
Agreement.
I leaned forward slightly.
"Then what about—"
"The commander of the Therian force was found dead this morning."
Miss Alvie.
She arrived without pause.
Her chair slid back.
She sat.
A newspaper moved across the table with a soft, deliberate slide.
"Ah, good morning, your Lord. Miss."
Her tone stayed casual.
Morgenstahl's attention shifted.
Immediately.
"Good morning."
A beat.
"What is this about the death of a general?"
"Well."
Miss Alvie reached for the coffee already placed in front of her.
Her fingers wrapped around the cup.
"It was reported he died of heartbreak."
I looked up.
That—
"Ah, yes."
Mr David spoke.
Smooth.
Uninterrupted.
"He chose to be stationed there in hopes of finding his missing son."
Heiwa had already picked up the newspaper.
The pages rustled softly as her fingers adjusted their grip. Her eyes moved quickly across the text.
"So the withdrawal order…"
Her voice stayed low.
"…shattered that hope."
She lowered the paper.
The edge touched the table with a soft sound.
"Will this lead to more issues?"
I reached for another sausage.
The plate shifted slightly under the movement.
Mr Kamon tapped his fingers against the table.
Light.
Rhythmic.
"I do not think so."
His tone held.
Steady.
"That is rather unfortunate."
Mr David's words settled cleanly.
Then—
Nothing.
The table stilled.
Not tense.
Not strained.
Just—
Paused.
No one moved to fill it.
The sunlight shifted again.
Lower now.
Softer.
The warmth remained.
The morning continued.
Whether we followed it—
Or not.