Emma
By the time Thalia declared us “done,” I felt like I’d been through a tornado made of perfume, jewelry, and opinions.
Amara stood by the mirror first, adjusting one gold earring with the same calm precision she used in training. The emerald satin gown she’d chosen looked like it had been poured onto her—smooth and catching the light in soft waves. The low V of the bodice was sculpted and unapologetic, the slit high enough to promise danger when she moved but controlled enough that it still felt… Amara. Powerful, deliberate, effortless. Gold jewelry warmed against her dark skin. Her hair was sleek and swept over one shoulder, and when she lifted her chin, she looked like the kind of woman who didn’t ask for space—she claimed it.
Thalia was the opposite kind of striking: a sleek blac
