ELENA'S POV
I stood there holding the document for a long time.
Nobody spoke.
The only sound in the cabin was the wind outside and the occasional creak of the old stone walls and my own breathing, which I was having to think about consciously in a way I normally didn't.
Morgana.
My grandmother.
The woman who had opened the gates. Who had stood in a candlelit hall with an iron key in her closed fist and smiled the smile of someone who had been waiting for a very specific moment. Who had watched forty-seven people burn and called it necessary.
My grandmother.
I set the document down on the table.
I walked to the window.
I stood there with my hand on the cold glass and my forehead almost touching it and I breathed.
Behind me I heard the room carefully not doing anything. Not moving
