Disguise 72_The Matchmaker

CHAPTER 72 

 It had been days.

 Saphira hadn’t stepped beyond the threshold of her room since the truth had detonated inside her chest–sharp, relentless, and echoing. Everything she thought she knew had splintered, ripples of memory and revision bleeding through each corner of her life.

 Her room had be her refuge, her barricade, her stillness. A hollow space where no expectations reached her, where silence wrapped tight enough to muffle the noise outside and the even louder noise within.

 Visitors came in waves.

 Finn and Amara had been the first–quiet, warm presences who sat without pushing. Finn had offered a tentative smile, Amara a hand on her shoulder. They didn’t press her to talk. Didn’t ask her to move. They simply brought stillness of their own and stayed long enough to leave a lingering trace of </bfort in 

 their wake.

 Then came Raven and Talia. They stood in the doorway, uncertain and tentative–hovering like they weren’t sure if they belonged inside the weight of her grief. Raven had offered her favourite blend of tea, her fingers trembling just slightly. Talia brought two books and a tired smile. They didn’t stay long.

 Niks hade too.

 He never asked how she was. Never asked anything at all, really.

 He just sat. Sometimes near. Sometimes across the room. asionally, he would speak–soft updates about the search for Damon. Leads that led to nothing. Glimpses of movement in the eastern woods. Names. Locations. Suspicion. She absorbed the words, nodded when it felt expected–but they floated past her like leaves on the current. She wasn’t ready to hold them.

 He’d also told her, in that low, carefully weighted tone of his, that Zafira and Anastasia had both been discharged from the hospital. That they were safe now. Resting, Staying just down the hall. He had even told her the room numbers–not in expectation, just in case. As if nting signposts on a trail she could choose to follow when she was ready.

 She remembered nodding. Maybe even saying “thank you.” Or maybe just thinking it.

 But on the morning of the fourth day, something shifted.

 The air tasted clearer when she woke.

 Saphiray on her back, nket tangled around one leg, her eyes tracing the familiar wooden beams of her ceiling. For t didn’t feel like it was copsing inward. The pressure was still there but thinner. Bearable.

 t time in days, her chest

 A dream clung to her- faint now, like mist evaporating under morning light. The cold stone corridors of Silvermoon. Lupus‘ voice, too smooth to trust. Cassandra’s smile, honey–sweet and venomous. Every word sharpened by control. Every kindness manufactured.

 It matched Anastasia’s story too perfectly.

 The way Lupus had yed his role. The way the Elders had closed the door on her birth with chilling finality.

 But it was thest thought–the one that hit her just as the sun filtered through the curtains–that anchored her breath and sat like stone in her chest.

 Why did the Elders get involved at all? 

 She sat up slowly, nket dragging across her shoulders like worn armour. Her fingers clenched around the fabric, anchoring herself in that single question.

 There were too many missing pieces still.

 But that one?

 That one didn’t just not fit.

 It shouldn’t have been there at all.

 The hallway was quiet when Saphira finally stepped out of her room, the kind of quiet that felt purposeful–as if the walls themselves understood the wron↑ ready to be seen just yet.

 Her feet moved on instinct, bare against the cool wood, drawn more by an ache in her chest than any clear decision. She’d showered, pulled on somethingfortable, loosely braided her hair–but it all felt like armour. Thin, makeshift armour holding back the weight of what she’d learned.

 When she reached the lower levels, she paused at the curve in the hall, her hand hovering near the frame of Niks‘ office door. Voices–low ones–driftet from inside.

 She pushed gently.

 Niks and Jed were mid–conversation, seated across from one another at the worn oak desk. Both looked up, startled but not unkindly. 

 Niks stood immediately, concern shing across his face. “Saphira.” He took a slow step forward. “Hey–are you-?”

 She raised a hand, voice quiet. “I’m sorry. I should’ve knocked.”

 “It’s okay,” he said gently, his voice losing any edge. “Come in.”

 Jed half–stood, ncing between them. “Do you want me to give you some space?”

 Saphira shook her head. “You can stay. I don’t mind.”

 She eased into the chair opposite Niks, her hands settling in herp. The room smelled faintly of cedarwood and worn parchment. Familiar. Grounding.

 Niks leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the desk. “How are you doing?”

 Saphira’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m… okay,” she said, but it wasn’t convincing, even to her. She flicked a nce toward Jed, then Niks again. “There’s something I wanted to ask about.”

 They both stilled a little, listening now.

 “Zafira,” she said. “Does she remember anything? From when she was taken?”

 Niks exchanged a look with Jed, his jaw ticking subtly before he responded. “Not much. Barely anything, actually.”

 Jed nodded. “She was subdued fast–too fast. Whatever they used, it wasn’t normal. Every time someone entered, she w

 at to sleep. Magically.”

 “A witch,” Niks added. “One skilled enough to mask the energy. If exins why we weren’t able to find her before.”

 Saphira’s fingers tightened slightly in herp. “So, they didn’t want her to see who was involved.”

 Niks exhaled, nodding grimly.

 Saphira looked down for a moment, then raised her gaze. “There’s something else,” she said quietly. “Something Anastasia told me. About my birth.”

 Saphira hesitated, the words lodging behind her ribs for á breath too long. But then–she released them, quiet and steady.

 “She said it was the Elders,” she murmured. “They were the ones who told her I died.” 

 Niks stilled. He leaned back slowly, eyes narrowing as the words settled. Across from him, Jed’s brow furrowed sharply, his expression darkening 

 Niks blinked, almost to himself. “I… wasn’t expecting that,” he said, surprise roughening his tone. 

 The Matchmaker

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Disguise 72