Few days passed. Each morning, the first thought that struck Viana was the absence of a report. The news about the people who had poured the substance, or even definitive information about the substance itself beyond Eryndor's assessment, remained unconfirmed.
The days began to blur into a single, anxious wait. The urgency that had fueled her actions just a few mornings ago began to curdle into a stagnant dread.
Viana waited wearily in her room. Her study, once a sanctuary of discovery and preparation, became a cage. She moved less, spoke less.
The maps remained spread on the table, their lines no longer a source of strategic insight, but a grim reminder of the unconfirmed threats. She spent hours staring at them, tracing the marked regions, her mind cycling through possibilities and worst-case scenarios.
Sleep offered little respite, haunted by fragmented memories of a past she was desperate to alter.
Sina's attempts to draw her out became more frequent, more insistent.
