Karako and Clary arrive mid‑morning. My door crackles open before I can even ask, and they’re in, boots on the carpet, faces etched with worry.
“Hey,” Karako whispers, like even speaking loud might shatter me.
“Aria,” Clary says, voice hushed, “can we come in?”
I don’t move. Forget to wipe my mascara from pillow‑crushed cheeks. They perch on the edge of my bed, kneel down, sit—whatever they can do to anchor me.
“This is a lot,” Karako says, reaching for my hand. Warmth. I stare at our fingers linking, afraid I’ll break this hold, afraid it’ll unravel me. “It’s okay to fall apart.”
I exhale, a tremor starting deep in my chest. “Everything… it’s moving so fast. Two girls… gone. Jasper… at the hospital. Soren’s missing. Lucian and Oliver are here with me… I feel like I’m living in a nigh
