I chose the Garden of Whispers. Not the bench — the seventh terrace, the one Valeria had designated as Mira's training space, the one she'd prepared before knowing that everything she was preparing was about to collapse.
I chose sunset. Not for romance — for privacy. The seventh terrace was isolated by design, separated from the lower levels by a cascade of night-blooming jasmine that sealed the space in fragrance and shadow once the sun descended past the islands. After sunset, the terrace was functionally invisible to anyone not deliberately seeking it.
I chose to come alone. Nihil was beneath my bed in Room Seven, under strict instructions not to comment, offer advice, or provide sardonic observations about the emotional dynamics of human relationships. The sword had responded with "I make no promises" which, from Nihil, constituted maximum cooperation.
Valeria was already there.
