4
In the ten years since Desa had left the city, her mother had moved to a small apartment building. The hallway outside her door had white walls and a wooden floor that creaked at the slightest touch.
Desa stood in that corridor with one hand on the wall, frowning down at her own feet. “Hello, Mama,” she murmured to herself. “I know I’ve been gone for a long time, but I had to stop Bendarian…”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Desa trembled. “No matter how many times you rehearse it,” she hissed, “it’s never going to sound right.”
She slumped against the wall, air rushing from her lungs, and brushed a lock of damp hair off her forehead. “Best to just get it over with.” Her stomach was tied up in knots, and she could feel her heart pounding.
Desa knocked on the thick, wooden door.
A moment la
