Nobody spoke for a very long time.
The photograph remained on the table.
Another Midnight.
Another Kael.
Another life.
Proof that love had existed even in a world that died.
The throne pulsed softly beneath Draven Ridge.
Not grief.
Not joy.
Witness.
It was witnessing.
The same way it had witnessed everything.
The same way it had refused to forget.
Elara wiped at her eyes.
"I thought that was all she left."
The room looked up.
The young woman swallowed.
"I was wrong."
The words settled heavily.
Slowly, carefully, she reached back into her jacket.
This time, she removed a small metal box.
Black.
Scorched.
Cracked down the middle.
The sight of it made Midnight's stomach drop.
Because she recognized it.
Not the box itself.
The feeling.
The desperate hope of someone
