Regina bowed her head, her fingers still trembling as they clutched the hem of her shirt.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, voice tight. "I should have opened the door sooner. My king."

Xander’s hand tightened around mine, but he didn’t speak. Neither did I. There was something about her apology that felt... heavier than it should have. Like the weight of years pressed behind every word.

Regina stepped aside, motioning to the worn-out sofa in the modest living room. A thin blanket was folded over the backrest, and the coffee table was cluttered with unopened mail and a dusty photo frame flipped facedown.

"Please, sit. I can make coffee—"

"It’s fine,"...