(Elara’s POV)
The halls of the Ronan estate were silent.
Not quiet—silent. Like a held breath. Like the world itself was waiting for someone to crack.
I closed the door to my borrowed room behind me with trembling fingers. My hands still shook from the way Ronan had looked through me, like I was fog on a windowpane.
And Violet—Violet—with her scar exposed and her spine unbent and that look in her eyes like she was untouchable now.
She wasn’t supposed to survive that.
She was supposed to run from the room in shame. Hide. Fall to pieces.
Not stand there like a queen among ashes.
Not steal the attention—again.
My throat tightened as I reached for the carved jewelry box on the shelf. It was pale lavender, aged now, the paint chipped at the corners. Inside was a necklace—cheap, chil
