FREYA
I stepped into the kitchen. Helena stood over the counter, her sleeves rolled up, hands moving with practiced ease as she chopped vegetables. The quiet state of the kitchen was a stark contrast to the noise that had erupted outside only moments ago.
People whispering, shuffling feet, raised voices...
I cleared my throat softly and moved closer. “Let me help you with that.”
Helena glanced up, her expression softening. “I already have help, as you can see.” She tilted her chin toward the two younger girls kneading dough on the side table.
“I know,” I said quickly, reaching for a basket of apples on the counter. “But I need the distraction. I can’t just sit in my room pretending I don’t hear all that noise.”
Her eyes lingered on me, reading more than I had spoken aloud. Helena h
