Sofia didn’t remember walking back.
She didn’t remember the way the air changed or how the sand kissed her ankles. The packhouse loomed like a shadow on the hill, its windows glowing gold in the dusk, but she barely saw it. Her body moved without thought—feet finding familiar steps, muscles remembering what her heart refused to.
The ceremonial braid was coming loose. The dove feathers snagged in her hair.
No one called her name. Not Eliza, who watched from the garden with fear in her throat. Not Pacer, whose arm was bandaged and jaw tight. Not Pill, who stood by the door with something like sorrow in his eyes.
They let her pass.
They had to.
She climbed the stairs one step at a time. Not slow. Not fast. Just steady. As if each stair was one more truth she had to carry on her back.
T
