Aria had no intention of taking the vial with her at first. It was small, fragile, and she wanted nothing to do with it. But the thought that Liora—stubborn, impulsive Liora—would surely break it the second she left made her stop mid-stride.
That image alone changed her mind. With a resigned breath, she turned back, picked it up carefully from the table, and tucked it inside the inner pocket of her cloak. The glass felt unnervingly cold against her skin, a silent reminder of all the secrets it contained.
She stepped out of the villa and into the night. The air was still and heavy, the moonlight faint behind a veil of mist that lingered over the courtyard. Gravel crunched under her boots as she crossed toward the waiting carriage, her breath forming thin clouds in the chill.
She said nothing to the servants who lingered at a distance; their eyes followed her, but none dared speak.
