The room was cold. Not just from the air, but from the silence between them.
Celeste stood in front of her mother.
Emilia.
Alive.
Real.
But not the woman she remembered.
She looked at her now—dressed in all black, her eyes hard, her lips tight. There was no smile, no warmth. Just a calm coldness that scared Celeste more than anything else.
"Sit," Emilia said.
Celeste didn’t move. “You planned everything?”
“Yes.”
“You started the war?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Emilia walked over to a small table and poured herself tea like this was just a simple chat. “Because I knew no one else could.”
Celeste shook her head. “You faked your death. You left me. You used Isla.”
Emilia sipped her tea. “You were too soft. I had to push you to become strong.”
Celeste stepped forward. “You don’t get to dec
