Amelia’s POV
I step closer to Elsa, my eyes scanning the cuts and bruises that mark her skin, the faint sheen of blood glistening in the pale light, and I feel a pang of disbelief mixed with gratitude. The courtyard is quiet now, the echoes of battle having faded, but the tension in the packhouse is palpable. Ryan and Alex stand before us, eyes narrowed, muscles taut, suspicion radiating from them like heat from a fire, and I know what they think: that Elsa hurt me, that she attacked me, that the blood on my hands proves her cruelty.
“Elsa, did you attack Amelia?” Alex asks again.
I shake my head, stepping firmly between them and Elsa, my voice rising with conviction, unwavering and clear. “No,” I say, and it carries across the room, firm and resolute. “She didn’t. Elsa saved me from L
