A D R I A N
The investor’s voice lingers long after he leaves, slick as oil in my ears. Fire her before the Lantern Tide. The words aren’t a suggestion—they’re a blade pressed to my throat. One wrong move, and the island isn’t mine.
Elara doesn’t know I saw her at the door. The way her body froze when those words dropped, the way she gripped the frame as if she could anchor herself against betrayal. She thinks I might sell her out to prove myself. Hell, half of me wonders if I should. The board would cheer, the investors would breathe easier, my mother would stop watching me with that hawk’s suspicion.
But the other half, the part that remembers her voice steadying drowning guests, her hands slick with salt and certainty. Can’t. She’s the only one who doesn’t bow to the theater. And if
