Zara Fen POV
The gold-leafed elevator doors were less than twenty feet away, but they felt like the far side of a mountain pass.
Silas’s fingers were still clamped around my elbow, his grip a heavy, branding iron through the fabric of my jacket. His pulse was a frantic, warning rhythm against my skin, but it was the only thing keeping my knees from buckling.
I am supposed to stay calm. I am supposed to think about the exhibition. I am supposed to focus on why we’re here.
But my mind was stuck in a horrific loop. The laundry cart. The grey-uniformed guards. The injury along Emily’s jawline. She had spent five years acting as Dawnridge's eyes in the frozen North—a fierce, defiant storm of a girl who refused to play the quiet princess to her brother’s crown. She had survived the dangerou
