Faint moonlight spilled through the arched windows, casting long silver streaks across the scattered desks and forgotten parchment.

Your star charts. You'd left them folded under that rickety table near the railing—the same spot where you and Mattheo had spent countless nights tracing constellations on each other's skin.

But you stopped halfway across the room.

A soft sound. A breath. A whisper.

And then you saw them.

And just like that, everything you thought you knew turned to ash.