The sun was soft that morning. Its warmth soaked into Aurora’s pale skin as she walked alongside Elara through the garden path, her fingers brushing lightly against the flowers that framed the cobblestone walkway. The air carried the scent of blooming lilies, damp earth, and faint traces of pine from the nearby woods.
These walks had become routine. Elara insisted they helped “clear the head,” though Aurora suspected it was her way of keeping an eye on her. Not that she minded. There was something strangely comforting about Elara’s chatter, about the way she always filled the silence Aurora never knew how to break.
But today, Aurora wasn’t listening. Her gaze was distant, unfocused, fixed somewhere beyond the garden wall.
Elara noticed. “Okay,” she said, slowing her pace and folding her
