Roman stood outside his mother’s suite for a long moment before knocking.

He hadn’t slept.

Anger had burned itself out sometime before dawn, leaving behind something heavier—confusion, grief, a gnawing sense that the ground beneath his feet had shifted and might never settle again.

He knocked once. Firm. Respectful.

“Come in,” Salima’s voice called from inside.

Roman opened the door and stepped into the sitting room. Salima stood by the window, dressed immaculately as always, a silk robe wrapped around her like armour.

She turned when she heard him, her face carefully composed—but her eyes gave her away. They were tired.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Roman...