The moon, a watchful eye in the velvet expanse of night, cast its silvery light through Kate's window. It illuminated a room steeped in the aftermath of a storm – a storm of emotions that raged within Kate herself. Anger, confusion, and a gnawing fear – remnants of the attack – battled with a burgeoning sense of guilt.
Deimon's apology echoed in her mind, not the apology she expected – for bringing her back to the Academy – but for not being there sooner. Shame burned in her gut as she recalled her outburst. He hadn't lied about her injury; the remnants of the healers' ministrations were stark reminders.
The attack, the hunters – they weren't figments of a fever dream fueled by pain. The terror, the searing pain, the frantic escape – they were all terrifyingly real. Escaping the Academy,
