Eve
Maera held on to me, her whole body shaking but holding on to the child she still held in her arms. "It's you, it's really you," she whispered, trembling into my hair. Her scarred face was jarring, but Hades had warned me. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel ashamed.
"It's me, Maeve," I assured her.
I tried not to even glance at the person standing awkwardly behind us, twisting her hands together, her eyes boring into the ground.
Seeing her like this was another kind of whiplash. Nothing could have prepared me for the woman before me—older, hollow-eyed, almost unrecognizable.
The lump in my throat hardened, but I kept my wits about me.
This was no time for emotional speeches. I watched as more and more people emerged from the shadows, exhausted, terrified, clutching what few belongings they'd managed to carry.
