"Just a little, it'll be over soon," another leaned down and kissed their partner's forehead, leaving a mark of devotion more binding than any blood oath.
I watched them from across the room, my bandaged palm resting in my lap. These were the small mercies I had never been given—the quiet reassurances, the presence that meant something. Giorgio had offered words, but never this. Never the simple truth of staying.
The blood in the vial would be tested, verified, recorded. My lineage confirmed, my health certified, my worth assessed like cattle at market. And in two days, I would stand before the Commission and speak vows that would chain me to a man who had already given his heart to another.
Unless I ensured there was nothing left to chain.
