I am writing this instead of saying it to your face because I know myself well enough to know I would choose the wrong silence if I stood in front of you.

There are duties that require composure, and then there are truths that do not survive it. This is the latter.

When I accepted this assignment, I told myself that distance would make everything simpler. That leaving now would preserve what we were, unstrained by what I am becoming. That was the lie I needed to move forward, and I am moving forward, whether I am ready or not.

You once told me that the Ascendancy teaches us to master our emotions, not to be without them. I have held on to that more tightly than I realized. It is why I am writing this now, while I still know exactly what I am leaving behind.

What we shared was never reckless. It was careful, deliberate, and chosen, which makes it harder to release than something born of impulse. I do not regret it. I will not pretend it was less than it was simply because it cannot continue.

If I do not return, I want you to know that I left with clarity. Not doubt. Not confusion. I chose my path with open eyes, and you were part of what taught me how to do that.

If I do return, I ask only this: do not wait. Do not measure your life against the space I leave behind. Whatever we were, let it remain something complete, not something unfinished that shadows you.

There are things I cannot say, and names I will not write. That is the cost of the duty I accepted. But there is one truth I can leave you with, unencrypted and intact:

You were never a mistake.

Take care of yourself. Be proud of the work you do. And when the ice storms come in and the sky turns that familiar shade of blue-gray, know that somewhere far beyond it, I remember exactly how it looks.

Love,

Indigo

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