“I called Don Liacari,” Emeliana says quietly. “He needed to know where you are.”
The words settle into the space between them, and Amethyst barely registers them at first. Her thoughts are already unravelling, slipping backwards through memories she has tried to bury, through choices she made when fear outweighed reason, when survival felt like the only thing left to cling to. She stands frozen where she is, arms hanging uselessly at her sides, her chest tightening with every shallow breath.
“Amethyst.”
Don Liacari’s voice reaches her again, closer now, warmer than she remembers, and that is when the first tear escapes her, sliding down her cheek before she can stop it. Another follows, and then another, until her vision blurs and the room seems to tilt around her, not from dizziness b
