Josephine stares back at Marianne, one hand still lifted as though to reach for her. She drops it slowly. “You wanted to leave,” she says. “You didn't want… this,” and her fingers twitch: the house, the stairs, the couch where they loved, “or—”

Another twitch of fingers, inward: Josephine gestures to herself. Captain of the Royal Guard. Guardian of the city. Its quietest and sharpest ghost.

“You wanted to leave,” she says a second time. “I only… I only wanted to— to give you what you wanted, only ever that, so—”

So I let you go.

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