CHAPTER 22 — WHAT THE BLOOD REMEMBERS
The rain started just before dusk. Soft at first. Then steady. Then relentless — like the sky had decided the forest needed washing after everything it had witnessed. Nera stood at the edge of the clearing, staring into the trees like she was looking at something no one else could see. Dante watched her from a distance. She hadn’t spoken much since waking up. Hadn’t complained either. That worried him more. “Your breathing changes when you’re thinking too hard,” he said quietly as he approached. She didn’t look at him. “Do you ever get the feeling that your body knows something your mind doesn’t?” “All the time.” Her fingers pressed against her temple. “I saw something when I was unconscious.” Dante went still. “What kind of something?” “A house,” she whispered. “Small. Wooden.
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