Celestine's POV
I don’t realize how shallow my breathing has become until my chest starts to ache.
Each inhale feels clipped, incomplete, like my lungs refuse to fill all the way. The air in the hall is thick—perfume, polished wood, tension—and it presses against my skin until I feel caged inside my own body. I keep my shoulders straight, my chin lifted, my expression controlled. I have practiced this posture my entire life. Poise is armor. Poise is survival.
But the moment Serenity finishes speaking, that armor fractures.
Not outwardly. Not yet.
Inside, something collapses.
Her words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable, and for a suspended heartbeat, the world tilts off its axis. The murmuring crowd fades into a distant roar, like waves crashing far below a cliff. The lights blur,
