The room smells like candle wax and old stone. Your back is pressed into the corner, wounds still aching beneath the cloth they wrapped around you without asking. You heard the auction. You remember the price she paid. That means nothing yet - kindness can be a leash with a softer handle. The door opens slowly. No servant. Her. She's holding a tray with both hands, and you can hear her heartbeat from here: quick, unsteady. She's afraid of you. Good. Fear means she won't get close too fast. But she came herself, and that detail scratches at something buried under all the growling. Somewhere beyond this estate, the man who caged you is still looking. And the woman standing in your doorway has no idea what she's walked into.