Carmilla turned back to her documents.

  The sound of her pen returned to the room as if nothing important had happened. Ink moved, pages shifted, stacks were squared. The nobles were gone, the door was closed, and the air settled into the kind of quiet that made Soliana aware of her own breathing.

  Soliana stayed where she was.

  She did not know what she was waiting for. A dismissal. Permission. A sentence that would make sense of the one Carmilla had just dropped on her. Instead, Carmilla wrote.

  Eric remained near the door with the posture of someone trying to occupy as little space as possible. His earlier confidence had drained out of him the moment Carmilla began speaking to Soliana like she was a problem to be solved.

  Soliana could still feel the sting of it, the part that was worse than the content: how cleanly Carmilla had spoken, how sure she had been, how little effort it took to make Soliana feel like she was standing in the wrong life.

  Carmilla flipped a page and signed again.

  Soliana’s hands stayed at her sides because if she folded them she felt like she was pleading. If she clasped them she felt like she was praying. She did neither. She held herself still and tried to keep her eyes level.

  Her throat tightened anyway.

  “Are you done standing there?” Carmilla asked without looking up.

  Soliana flinched, then forced herself not to. “I—”

  Carmilla’s pen continued moving.

  Soliana swallowed once. The swallow hurt like she was forcing down something solid.

  “I want to stay,” Soliana said.

  Carmilla’s pen stopped.

  It did not stop with surprise. It stopped with the kind of pause that meant Carmilla had decided whether the statement was worth acknowledging.

  “Stay,” Carmilla repeated, as if tasting the word for flaws.

  Soliana nodded. “Here.”

  Carmilla set the pen down, aligned it with the edge of the table, then looked up.

  Her eyes were calm, and the calm made Soliana feel exposed.

  “You want to stay,” Carmilla said, “and you think wanting it is enough.”

  Soliana’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did not need to,” Carmilla replied.

  Soliana felt heat rise in her face. She hated that it was happening. She hated that Carmilla could pull it out of her with a few sentences, like the reaction had been predictable.

  “I’m trying,” Soliana said. The words came out more defensive than she intended. She corrected immediately, softer. “I’m trying to do it right.”

  Carmilla’s gaze held on her, unblinking, like she was watching to see if the girl would collapse under her own contradiction.

  “Then do it right,” Carmilla said.

  The answer landed too simply.

  Soliana blinked. “How?”

  Carmilla’s eyes flicked once toward the stacks on the desk, then toward Soliana again.

  “There is a system, a procedure,” Carmilla said. “You do not get to exist outside it just because you feel like it.”

  Soliana’s hands curled slightly. Not fists. She didn’t allow that. She kept her fingers half-open, like she could still choose control.

  Carmilla continued, voice even. “If you want a place in Inferna’s household, you make sure to qualify for it. You earn it by yourself.”

  Soliana’s heart beat harder. “I can do that.”

  Carmilla’s attention did not shift. “You can attempt it.”

  Soliana’s breathing steadied a little. The word attempt was still a door, and Soliana had been stuck in hallways for days.

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  She nodded once. “Tell me how.”

  Eric shifted his weight near the door. His eyes darted between them as if he expected Carmilla to turn and order him out at any moment.

  Carmilla reached to the side and pulled a ledger closer. She opened it with one hand, already scanning columns.

  “Apprenticeship qualification,” she said.

  Soliana’s focus narrowed. “apprenticeship?”

  “Household service, logistics rotation,” Carmilla replied. “Basic competency assessment. Physical tolerance. Memory. Procedure. In other words, it’s a test.”

  Soliana was listening so hard her ears felt full.

  Carmilla’s finger moved down the page and stopped.

  “The next qualification date is in two weeks,” Carmilla said.

  Eric made a sound that belonged in a training yard, not a council room.

  “Two weeks?!” he blurted.

  The words bounced off the walls and made Soliana’s stomach drop. Not because Eric had spoken, but because the panic in his voice meant something she didn’t understand yet.

  Carmilla’s eyes turned toward him.

  Eric shut his mouth too late.

  For a beat, he stood very still, like a dog that had barked at the wrong person.

  Carmilla’s gaze did not soften. It did not sharpen either. It simply held him in place.

  Eric swallowed. “Princess— I mean—”

  Carmilla waited.

  Eric forced the rest out, quieter, because volume clearly did not help him live. “It usually takes a year to qualify. Minimum. You can’t just— two weeks is— people train for it. They get endorsements. They—”

  Carmilla’s voice cut through him, low and controlled. “You are correct.”

  Eric stopped mid-sentence, confused by agreement.

  Carmilla turned back to Soliana as if Eric had been a passing noise.

  “The date is fixed,” Carmilla said. “The process is fixed. It will not change because you are impatient. You will simply be an addition, nothing more.”

  Soliana’s throat tightened. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or sick.

  Two weeks was almost nothing.

  … But two weeks was still something.

  “I’ll take it,” Soliana said.

  Carmilla looked at her for a moment, and Soliana felt the urge to add more words, to justify, to promise, to plead. She resisted. She kept her answer as it was.

  Carmilla nodded slightly, as if accepting that Soliana had at least learned not to overtalk.

  “You will not receive special preparation,” Carmilla said. “You will not be excused for ignorance. You will not be treated gently. You will be evaluated by people who do not care why you want to be here.”

  Soliana nodded again. “I understand.”

  Eric’s eyes widened. He looked like he wanted to grab Soliana by the shoulders and shake her until she came to her senses.

  Carmilla’s gaze returned to Soliana’s face. “If you fail, you stop.”

  Soliana didn’t look away. “Stop what?”

  Carmilla’s voice remained steady. “Stop inserting yourself. Stop working unassigned. Stop playing servant.”

  Soliana’s chest tightened. Her instinct flared—defend, argue, explain—but Carmilla’s earlier questions were still in her bones. Soliana could already feel how quickly she would run out of answers.

  Soliana forced the next question out. “Why are you doing this?”

  Carmilla’s gaze sharpened a fraction.

  Soliana regretted the wording instantly. It sounded like accusation. It sounded like entitlement.

  She corrected fast. “Why are you giving me a chance?”

  Carmilla’s eyes held on Soliana’s face. There was a long beat where Soliana expected Carmilla to refuse to answer, to dismiss her, to return to her documents.

  Instead, Carmilla’s voice came out evenly, like it’s a matter of fact.

  “This is not a chance,” Carmilla said, “Its simply procedure.”

  Soliana’s eyebrows lifted.

  Carmilla continued, and there was something in the words that sounded like she was forcing them past her teeth. “If you think the path to your mother is found in hallways and errands. If you think that carrying books makes you closer to her. Then who am I to stop you.”

  Carmilla let the silence stretch until it became unbearable.

  Soliana’s thoughts were loud and disorganized: wanting to be useful, wanting to be close, wanting to stop being a burden, wanting to stop seeing that tired look on Flora’s face, wanting to feel like she had a place, wanting to feel like she mattered.

  None of it turned into one sentence she could say out loud.

  Soon, Carmilla looked away first, like she was done paying for this conversation with her attention.

  “I will notify the registrar in the morning,” Carmilla said. “You will represent yourself. You train on your own time. You arrive on the day. You pass or you stop.”

  Eric blinked. “On her own time?” he repeated before he could stop himself.

  Carmilla’s eyes flicked to him.

  Eric shut up.

  Carmilla returned to Soliana. “Two weeks.”

  Soliana nodded once. The nod was stiff. The nod was fear and relief together.

  Carmilla picked up her pen again.

  Soliana stayed where she was, waiting for more, and then realized there would be no more. Carmilla was already moving on. That was how the room worked. That was how Carmilla worked.

  Eric finally spoke, quieter now, as if he was afraid the walls might remember his earlier volume. “You’re really doing it?”

  Soliana nodded without looking at him. “Yes.”

  Eric exhaled slowly. “You’re going to fail, miserably.”

  Soliana almost smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. “You could be wrong.”

  Eric stared at her like she was insane.

  Carmilla’s pen scratched steadily.

  Soliana kept her posture straight and forced her voice to remain steady. “We are leaving now.”

  Carmilla did not look up, nor did she answer.

  Soliana turned toward the door.

  Eric moved with her, because he had already committed to being dragged into whatever this was. He kept his steps quiet now, like he remembered what rooms were dangerous.

  As they left, Soliana glanced back once.

  Carmilla had already forgotten them.

  Or she was pretending she had.

  Either way, Soliana had been given a date, a process, and a rule.

  Two weeks.

  Pass.

  Or stop.

  The hallway swallowed them again.

  Eric leaned closer as they walked. “Two weeks,” he repeated under his breath like it offended him personally. “Do you even know what’s on the qualification?”

  Soliana’s hands tightened around nothing. “No.”

  Eric looked like he wanted to scream.

  Soliana’s voice stayed quiet. “I’ll learn.”

  Eric huffed. “You’re going to learn fast.”

  Soliana didn’t answer.

  Her mind was already moving.

  Not in the frantic way it had been moving when she hid behind stone, but in a focused way that felt unfamiliar and heavy.

  Two weeks to earn a place.

  Two weeks to stop being invisible.

  Two weeks before she had to stand in front of people who would decide whether she belonged in Inferna’s machine or whether she was just another guest drifting through.

  Soliana kept walking.

  She didn’t look back.