"Above our pay grade"
Eliza woke up before the sun.
She didn't gasp.
Didn't stir like someone haunted by dreams.
Just opened her eyes, slow and quiet — like sleep had been a formality.
The ceiling above her hadn't changed.
Neither had the air, still heavy with last night's silence.
But the weight in her chest — that was new. Or maybe not. Maybe it had always been there, just… quieter before.
She sat up.
There was no ceremony in it. No hesitation.
Her limbs moved like a machine freshly wound — functional, detached.
But not empty.
She stood and walked across the room, her steps near soundless on the wooden floor.
She paused outside the doorway across the hall.
The one that no one had opened since yesterday.
Her hand didn't reach for the handle — just hovered slightly in the air. Then fell.
She looked at the closed door for three whole seconds.
Then turned her back to it.
---
She dressed in silence.
Simple, utilitarian. Dark colors. No frills.
But her hands lingered for a moment at her vanity, brushing past a worn ribbon — sky blue, faded at the edges.
Her mother's.
She tied her hair with it.
It didn't match.
She didn't care.
---
She trained.
Blades against the cold air. One swing after another.
Her footwork was sharp. Her balance deadly. Her control absolute.
And yet… each movement was a little more vicious than necessary.
Every blow carved the wind like it had wronged her.
She wasn't training to improve.
She was training to endure.
---
When it was over, she wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Ate a piece of stale bread without tasting it. And stepped out the door.
She closed it behind her — gently. Slowly.
Then stayed there, hand still on the handle, like something was holding her in place.
One breath.
Two.
A sigh, quiet and bitter.
Then she walked away.
...
At the edge of the duchy, a young knight stood guard near the southern gate. Barely a man — barely awake.
He spotted her instantly.
Dark cloak. Firm stride. That same blank expression they all had started whispering about.
She didn't even glance his way.
She walked right through the gates and toward the forest beyond.
The young knight blinked.
"...Should I follow her?"
A hand slapped hard on his shoulder.
"Are you crazy?" a voice hissed behind him. "Do you want to die?"
He turned. It was Garran — older, sharper, and far less suicidal.
"What—?"
"Don't tell me you were thinking of following that girl."
"I just—She left. Alone. Isn't that… suspicious?"
Another knight, leaning against the post, snorted. "Suspicious, sure. But are you suicidal or just new?"
The young one frowned. "She went into the forest. Alone. Doesn't that—?"
"Listen." Garran cut in. "He told us not to go near her."
The room went still.
"None of you go near her." That's what he'd said.
No explanation. No tone for argument.
He hadn't even looked at them when he said it. Just walked away like the sentence had teeth.
The Duke wasn't known for his warmth.
But this… this was different.
Everyone remembered the look in his eyes when he returned.
Everyone remembered the scream they weren't supposed to hear.
"He's not playing games."
"He never was."
Another knight leaned in.
"You know that forest, right?"
"What about it?"
The youngest looked back toward the trees. She'd long vanished into the woods.
"That forest…"
"Don't even think about it."
"It's infested. Monsters. Magic. Whatever lives in there, it's not human."
"No one goes near the core. Not even hunters."
"And she went straight in. Alone."
"She didn't even hesitate," the young one muttered.
A silence stretched.
"Whatever she is," Garran muttered, turning back to his post, "it's above our pay grade."