The Sy family’s vacation house stood on a quiet ridge in Tagaytay, where the air was cool and thin and the world seemed suspended between sky and water. It was called their beach house, not because it sat by the ocean, but because from its wide terraces and sloping gardens, Taal Lake stretched out like a silver shore, and Taal Volcano rose from its center like an island waiting to be discovered.
When Naime stepped out of the car, a soft wind greeted her, carrying the scent of grass and distant rain. The horizon looked endless. The lake shimmered under the afternoon light, and the volcano stood calm and imposing, its dark curves softened by a veil of mist. It felt like standing at the edge of something sacred.
Drevin walked beside her along a stone path lined with low lanterns and trimmed
