It was a quiet Monday morning — the kind that stretched endlessly, wrapped in the pale hush of sunlight that filtered through sheer curtains. Vanya sat at her study table, her sanctuary, though not the one she called The Vault — that special room of plans and secrets Reyan had once dramatically named for her. Today, she had chosen the calm of her bedroom instead.

Her hair was tied in a messy bun, a few loose strands falling stubbornly against her cheek. She sat cross-legged on her swivel chair, dressed in an oversized grey hoodie that seemed to swallow her whole. Blueprints were scattered across the table, curling slightly at the corners, and the soft tapping of her pen against the wood was the only sound filling the air.