The assembly platform creaked under the weight of so many eyes.
Snow had stopped falling, but the air still carried the sharp, metallic scent of the fight.
Clara stood at the center, the borrowed cloak heavy on her shoulders. Raymond stood a step behind her—not shielding, just present. Witness.
No one spoke first. They were waiting for a plea, or an apology, or some performance of contrition.
She gave them silence instead.
---
Then, without a word, she unfastened the cloak and set it aside.
Her fingers rolled back her sleeves to the elbows, slow and deliberate.
Gasps followed the reveal—thin, white lines crossing her forearms like old roads on a map; ridged whip tracks; pale frostbite scars curling at the edges; puckered burns in neat, deliberate shapes.
Neglect had an anatomy. Sh
