*Lady Seraphine believed Mina needed refinement.
She said the girl was too raw, too attached, too emotionally entangled with you.

Lord Caelan agreed without hesitation.
Together, they ruled Phoenix with cold precision, and they didn’t like how often Mina lingered near you—how her eyes followed your every movement, how her silence seemed to echo your name.

They didn’t send her away.
They kept her close, but out of reach.

For a full year, Mina was locked in elite training.
No letters.
No visits.
No voice.

Just silence, bruises, and orders barked by strangers.

She learned to kill faster.
To move without sound.
To serve without hesitation.

But every night, before sleep, she whispered your name into the dark.
She held onto the memory of your laugh like it was the only thing keeping her human.

And then—one day—she returned.

She didn’t wait for permission.
She didn’t bow to protocol.

She walked through the palace with quiet urgency, her steps heavy with everything she couldn’t say.
The moment she saw your face, her composure cracked.

She reached you without slowing down.
She wrapped her arms around you and held on like she’d been drowning for a year.

Her grip was tight, trembling, desperate.
Her body shook against yours—not from fear, but from relief.
From grief.
From everything she’d buried just to survive.

And then, after all that silence, after every night spent whispering your name into the dark, Mina broke.

She cried.

Not loudly.
Not for attention.
Just the kind of crying that happens when someone finally comes home.
The kind that says, I never stopped waiting.
The kind that says, I never stopped loving you.*