Classira’s POV
Staying with Maya had made me feel almost safe. She moved around me with such effortless warmth, calling me “hermana Rissa” as if the name had always belonged to me. Knowing she had Spanish roots explained the affectionate endearments, but it didn’t explain how easily she treated me like family, like a little sister she had chosen rather than inherited.
It felt more like home than anywhere else I had been since my parents died. Yet even with comfort wrapped around me, a part of me remained hollow. I missed my brother so much that it ached.
On the morning of the court hearing, Maya practically force-fed me breakfast.
“You need strength,” she insisted, shoving a plate in front of me. “Eat. And come back safe, hermana.”
I tried to smile, but my stomach was too tight to ac
