Sophie hadn’t left the estate in five days.

Not because she couldn’t — the gates were open, the reporters had stopped camping outside, and Phoenix HQ was sending regular status updates. But for the first time in months, she needed silence. Not strategy. Not war.

Just silence.

She stood barefoot in the greenhouse, hands brushing over a row of violets. Sunlight painted her skin golden through the glass ceiling. For the first time in what felt like years, the air didn’t feel heavy.

Rachel entered, carrying a small teacup.

“You’ll kill those flowers with how hard you’re thinking,” she said gently.

Sophie smirked. “They’ve survived worse. Like me.”

Rachel placed...