Arianna's POV
Camille lay on the stretcher beside me, pale but breathing, her chest rising and falling in a shallow rhythm. A medic sat across from us, checking her vitals, murmuring numbers into a device clipped to his belt.
I held her hand anyway.
I didn’t know if she could feel it, but I needed her to know I was here.
Alive.
Still standing.
The doors slammed shut, and the van lurched forward.
That was when it finally hit me.
Not the fear. Not the gun. Not even Charles’ laughter. It was the truth, about my father.
The thought settled heavy in my chest, like something broken had finally found its place.
I stared at my hands still faintly red from the ropes, still trembling if I didn’t focus hard enough. These hands had learned to paint from my father’s. He used to guide my finge
