They had moved on fast.
That was the thought I woke up with on the morning of my fourteenth day at Frostholm. Not grief. Not anger. Just a quiet observation, like noticing the weather.
Declan and Isabel had moved on fast.
And I was glad.
Because every day that passed with them moving forward meant they weren't watching me. Weren't thinking about me. Weren't planning anything aimed in my direction.
The photograph my mother had sent sat face-down in my evidence file. I hadn't looked at it again. I did not need to.
I got up, dressed, and went to the training room.
Caden was already there. He always was. I'd learned to arrive five minutes after six if I wanted to find him already warmed up, already focused, already settled into himself in the particular way that the training room brough
