Morning came in without sound.
Light slid along the wall before reaching the bed. Elara was awake. Her knee stayed straight, the cloth tied exactly as it had been the night before. The fabric felt lighter, as if it no longer had a purpose, but she didn't touch it.
The door opened.
The tutor entered with a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. She walked with the same rhythm as always. Stopped beside the bed. Reached out.
"Let's see."
Her fingers caught the edge of the cloth.
The knot gave way too easily.
The tutor froze with the cloth suspended in the air.
Elara felt her body stiffen before she knew why. Her gaze lifted too fast to the tutor's face.
Skin showed.
Smooth.
The tutor blinked once. Then again. She ran her fingers slowly over the knee, like someone searching for something dropped on the floor.
Her hand shook.
She pressed.
Nothing.
Released.
Pressed again, harder.
Nothing.
The cloth slipped from her fingers and fell open on the floor, the dark stain centered and exposed.
"What did you do?" The question came out broken.
Elara swallowed.
"Nothing."
The tutor stepped back and struck her leg against the chair. The scrape rang too loud against the floor.
"Did you touch it?"
"No."
"Put anything on it?"
Elara shook her head.
"It doesn't hurt anymore."
The tutor grabbed her own arm and squeezed, as if checking it was still there. Her eyes went back to the knee. Then to the cloth on the floor. Then back to the knee.
She turned too fast and left the room.
The door stayed open.
After a few minutes—
Quick steps. Voices rose in the corridor, overlapping, not waiting for answers.
"Here."
"Now."
"You saw it yesterday?"
The tutor returned with two others. They entered almost at the same time.
They stopped.
They looked.
One lifted a hand to her mouth before noticing the gesture. The other moved too fast and dropped to her knees beside the bed, gripping Elara's knee with both hands.
Turned it toward the light.
Ran her fingers over it.
Pressed.
"There's nothing," she said, and her voice broke halfway.
"This doesn't—"
"It was open," the first cut in. "It bled."
"I saw it," the other said, eyes still on the skin. "It was open."
All three spoke at once, words colliding, none finishing.
"The letter—"
"They'll think—"
"There isn't a mark—"
"And if—"
"How—"
One of the tutors began pacing the room, too short for the space. Stopped. Turned. Stopped again.
"Elara," the first said, too quickly. "Did it hurt yesterday?"
"It did."
"A lot?"
Elara hesitated.
"It hurt."
"And now?"
"It doesn't."
Silence dropped heavy.
One tutor sank into the chair without noticing. Another stayed standing, fingers opening and closing against her dress. The first kept staring at the cloth on the floor, as if it might change.
Metal echoed in the corridor.
Different footsteps.
Heavier.
The tutors fell quiet at the same instant.
Two men appeared in the doorway.
Dark clothes. Rigid fabric. Wide belts. A symbol stitched on the chest.
They looked at the room. At the tutors. At the bed.
They didn't speak to Elara.
One tutor stepped forward. Her voice held too firm to be steady.
"What was written in the letter yesterday is true."
She pointed to the cloth on the floor.
"Yesterday the wound was open. It bled. It hurt."
She pointed to the knee.
"Today there is nothing. No mark. No scar."
The men stepped closer. Stopped short of the bed.
They looked.
One tilted his head. The other crossed his arms.
"All of you saw it?" one asked.
"All of us," they answered, almost together.
The man nodded once.
He turned toward the tutors.
"We need to talk."
They exchanged a brief, sharp look. One of them clenched the stained cloth hard, as if it were the only solid thing left.
"Elara," the first said, without turning. "Stay."
Elara stayed.
The men and the tutors left the room.
The door closed.
The latch sounded too soft.
Elara remained seated on the bed, her knee uncovered, the same as the other. The stained cloth was gone.
The room felt larger for a second.
Then smaller.
And the silence grew too heavy to be just silence.