Ambrosia stood on the balcony of Uncle Joseph's home, her fingers resting lightly on the cool stone rail. Below, the people of Cave-Mill moved with quiet rhythm, their footsteps weaving between market stalls, their voices a steady murmur beneath the wind.
This town had become her hiding place, her shield. Ever since Dorian had dragged her out of the woods bleeding, barely breathing, eyes too tired to cry she'd decided that Amira, the girl tied to broken promises, no longer existed. That name, that life, she had buried it.
The door creaked open behind her. She didn't need to glance back. The soft clink of Dorian's blade against his belt was all she needed to hear. He stepped beside her, silent, his gaze following hers toward the village.
"You're thinking about what happened earlier," he said, his tone unreadable.
She sighed. The guilt sat heavy on her chest like a stone pressed to wet cloth.
