The heavy oak doors of the care facility clicked shut behind Solace with a soft, final thud, cutting off the sterile, lavender-scented air of the lobby. He stood on the top step for a moment, the cold wind of the Southern Gardens biting at his cheeks, and let out a breath.

  "That girl," he muttered under his breath, his boots crunching into the pristine gravel as he began to walk. "Vivi is going to be the actual death of me. An orphanage? A Kids Care Home?"

  It was a ridiculous lie, a reckless fabrication that had now tethered him to a poor child and a nurse who seemed entirely capable of skinning him for sport. And yet, as he walked further away from the stone building, the initial spike of panic began to subside, replaced by a strange, quiet warmth that he hadn't expected.

  He began to walk more slowly, his pace matching the rhythmic, soothing crunch of the stones beneath his feet. The Southern Gardens were incredibly quiet this morning. The wealthy residents were likely still tucked away in their heated mansions, leaving the wide, tree-lined boulevards to the ghosts and the dreamers.

  Solace found his mind drifting, pulling away from the jagged, frightening reality. He allowed the "orphanage" lie to take root in his imagination, not as a cover story, but as a possibility.

  He started to see it.

  It wouldn't be a grand mansion like the nobles, nor would it be a sterile, echoing hall like the care facility. It would be a moderately big house, something sturdy and honest, built of warm wood and weathered stone. It would have large windows that actually let the sun in, casting long, golden rectangles across floors that were slightly scuffed from the constant movement of children.

  He imagined a home full of them—little children who had spent their lives longing for a real home.

  He saw a kitchen that always smelled of something sweet and slightly burnt—fresh bread or cinnamon rolls.

  There would be a cat, he decided. A fat, orange, incredibly judgmental cat that spent its days moving from one sun patch to another, occasionally allowing a child to scratch its ears. And a dog—a big, goofy, shaggy beast that would sleep by the front door and act as a pillow for Elira while she read her books about knights and dragons.

  He felt like he could live a pretty fulfilling life if he lived like that.

  He imagined himself growing old in that house. His hair would turn gray, and the lines around his eyes would come from smiling too much rather than squinting against the darkness of the Void. He saw himself sitting in a rocking chair on a porch, watching the sunset over a garden. He wouldn't have a care in the world. No gods to kill, no empires to topple, no threads to weave. Just the simple, quiet legacy of a man who gave a home to those who had none.

  And then, when he was old enough not to walk, when his body was tired, and his work was done, he would pass away in the morning sun, surrounded by the echoes of the lives he had helped build. He would feel quite peaceful.

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  The thought was so vivid, so achingly beautiful, that it felt more real than the cold air in his lungs. For a transmigrator who had spent his entire existence viewing the world through the lens of a novel, this was the ultimate forbidden dream: a life that wasn't a plot point.

  A sudden, sharp voice sliced through the golden haze of his daydream, dragging him back into the reality of Theron City like a hook in his gut.

  "You look remarkably pathetic when you're lost in thought, Solace. It's a wonder you haven't walked into a tree yet."

  Solace froze. The peaceful warmth of the imaginary orphanage vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, familiar prickle of alarm. He blinked, refocusing his eyes, and realized he had stopped walking in the middle of a bridge overlooking a frozen ornamental pond.

  Standing ten feet ahead of him, blocking the path with the casual authority of someone who owned the very air they breathed, was a woman who seemed to radiate a different kind of cold.

  Nicole Richards.

  The Principal of the Academy stood there in her usual, deservingly arrogant and haughty way. She was dressed in an impeccably tailored coat of charcoal wool that looked more expensive than Solace's entire house. Her long, cascading silver hair caught the morning light, shimmering like a waterfall of moonlight against the dark fabric of her collar. Her posture was perfect, her chin tilted upward just enough to ensure she was looking down her nose at him, even though they were standing on level ground.

  She didn't look like a teacher. She looked like a monarch who had temporarily misplaced her throne and found it beneath her dignity to go looking for it.

  Solace took a moment to find his voice. The transition from his quiet dream to her presence was jarring, like being dunked in ice water.

  "Principal Richards," he said, shaking his head slightly to clear the last of the imagined house from his mind. "I was just... I didn't expect to see you here."

  Nicole didn't move, but the corners of her eyes crinkled in a way that might have been a smile on a less guarded person. She adjusted her charcoal coat, looking him over with a gaze that was critical but not entirely unkind.

  "I figured we haven't had a proper talk, Solace," she said, her voice smooth and carrying that weight of authority that made it impossible to ignore her. "A real conversation. And I am fairly certain you feel the same way. You have questions that have been festering for some time now."

  Solace looked at her carefully.

  "Are you sure you don't have a mind-reading ability?" Solace asked, his tone slow and cautious. He wasn't entirely joking; Just this morning, he thought of meeting Nicole, and here we were. What even are the chances? "Because your timing is a bit too precise to be a coincidence."

  To his surprise, Nicole let out a soft, genuine laugh. It was a clear, melodic sound that briefly stripped away the arrogance she usually wore like armor.

  "I wish," she replied, shaking her head. The silver strands of her hair caught the light, shimmering brilliantly. "It would make my job significantly easier if I could simply peek into the heads of my students and see what sort of trouble they were brewing. Unfortunately, I have to rely on observation and intuition like everyone else."

  She took a step closer, the clicking of her heels silent on the dusting of frost covering the bridge. The air between them felt heavy, charged with the things they hadn't said yet.

  "However," she continued, her expression becoming more serious, though her eyes remained soft. "The middle of a public bridge in the Southern Gardens isn't exactly the place for the kind of talk we need to have. Do you mind if we go somewhere else? Somewhere a bit more... private?"

  Solace hesitated for a heartbeat. He had the training with Vivi and the others tonight, and he still had the weight of the orphanage pressing on his chest. But looking at Nicole Richards, he realized that this might be the only time she would ever offer him a "proper talk" on neutral ground.

  "Lead the way," Solace said quietly.