Rhea did not believe in ghosts.

But this—this was close enough.

She moved quickly through the halls, her breath steady but her pulse still betraying her. Her skin still burned where he had touched her. The scent of sandalwood and steel clung to her thoughts, refusing to be dismissed.

She should have walked away. Should have ignored it.

But the problem was—she couldn't.

Because the man had known her name.

Because his touch had felt familiar.

Because he had laughed as if he knew exactly how much he was getting under her skin.

And Rhea did not like being played.

She took the long corridor first, where the stone halls led toward the private wing of the palace. The guards stationed there barely looked up as she passed.

No one out of place.

No one lurking in the shadows.

Her steps quickened.

The training grounds—empty.

The inner courtyards—quiet.

The war council chambers—locked.

Nothing.

No sign of him.

Damn him.

Rhea exhaled sharply, frustration curling in her chest. She hadn't imagined it. She knew what she had felt, what she had heard.

Someone had been there.

Someone had touched her, held her in place, breathed her name like a promise or a warning.

And now that same someone had disappeared into the night like he had never existed.

Her fingers curled into fists.

Who the hell was he?

And more importantly—why did he feel like someone she should remember?

Still unsettled, she turned on her heel and strode back toward the main halls.

This time, she was not subtle.

She stopped by a pair of passing palace guards, her voice smooth but firm.

"Did anyone pass through here just now?"

The men exchanged glances, frowning. "No, Lady Rhea. No one unusual."

Her jaw clenched.

"Anyone cloaked?" she pressed. "Tall, broad-shouldered, moving like he didn't want to be seen?"

One of the guards scratched his head. "A few men wear cloaks in the evening, my lady. But I did not see anyone suspicious."

She barely kept from cursing.

No one saw him.

No one knew.

She was alone in this.

Rhea turned away, heading back toward her chambers, her mind still circling like a predator on a hunt.

Who?

Who could walk these halls without being seen?

Who could know her name, know her movements, know her well enough to get close—without her suspecting it?

The air still smelled of sandalwood and steel.

She inhaled, slow and sharp.

Then exhaled.

Fine.

If he wanted to play games, she would play.

But the next time he touched her—

She would have a blade ready.