The days after the attack were the hardest of Sasha's life.
Four funerals. Four graves dug by hand in the hard mountain soil. Four families—the families the dead had found at Haven—standing in the rain, saying goodbye.
Clara spoke at the first funeral. She'd known the boy who died—Darius, the shadow-walker, only seventeen. "He was scared when he came here," she said, voice breaking. "Scared of everything. But he learned to laugh here. He learned to hope. He died defending that hope."
Sasha stood at the back, unable to speak. What could she say? She'd promised them safety. She'd promised them home. Four of them were dead.
After the funerals, Maya found her sitting alone at the edge of the property, staring at the forest.
"This isn't your fault."
"Yes, it is."
"No." Maya sat beside he
