Vanella was separated from her people before dawn.
Guards moved through the holding halls, calling out numbers instead of names. Groups were dragged in different directions—men to the outer labor grounds, women deeper into the palace. Vanella caught a glimpse of familiar faces before iron doors slammed shut between them.
That was the last time she saw any of them.
She was pushed into the women's quarters alone.
The chamber was small but clean. A stone basin sat beside the wall, filled with clear water. The scent of soap lingered in the air. This palace did not lack comfort—it lacked mercy.
A servant entered without meeting her eyes. "Wash. You will be inspected."
Vanella obeyed.
As she leaned over the basin, the surface of the water trembled faintly.
She froze.
The ripples vanished as quickly as they appeared.
The servant stiffened. Her gaze snapped to the basin, then away just as fast. She said nothing, but her hands shook as she backed toward the door.
Later, Vanella was marched through the inner corridors with other women she did not recognize. They were strangers now—faces from other fallen lands. The palace ensured that survivors did not remain together long enough to form strength.
They were lined up before the elders.
Raven Darward Acosta stood apart from them, silent and watchful.
"Any signs?" one elder asked quietly.
"A few," another replied. "They've been removed."
Raven's gaze swept the line.
When it passed over Vanella, she lowered her head, shoulders sagging, hair clinging to her face in dull strands. Soot, exhaustion, grief—she wore them all like armor.
A woman beside her swayed and reached for the wall. Water sloshed from a nearby jug, spilling onto the stone floor.
The air shifted.
Guards moved instantly, hauling the woman away before she could cry out.
Raven's voice cut through the corridor. "Clean it."
Servants rushed to wipe the stone dry, eyes lowered, movements precise. No one spoke.
"The palace does not tolerate abnormalities," Raven said calmly. "You will work where assigned. You will speak only when spoken to. Forget your past, or it will be erased for you."
His gaze lingered on Vanella for half a breath longer than necessary.
She did not look up.
That night, alone in her chamber, Vanella sat on the pallet and pressed her palms together until they ached. Her people were alive—somewhere. Scattered. Hidden. And she was alone by design.
Whatever this palace feared, it was not weakness.
And whatever it hunted, it was careful not to name.