*** Ariana’s POV
Elara’s words cling to the air, heavy and wrong, like the echo of a song sung off-key.
“I can’t wait to see him again,” she says, her voice soft and distant. The smile on her lips is as fragile as the flame flickering in the hearth, but her eyes… her eyes are the real betrayal. There’s nothing behind them but static.
I shift my weight, the creak of the wooden floor grounding me against the surreal tilt of the moment. “When was the last time you talked to James?” I ask, keeping my tone light, almost casual.
Elara’s hands, busy smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress, falter. She blinks, her expression flickering with something—confusion? Uncertainty? “Right before he left,” she says after a pause, the vagueness in her voice like a half-formed thought.
The answer settles into my chest like ice water. There’s no time stamp on that comment, nothing specific to anchor it. I know James has been dead for over a month.
“And Cirian,” I say slowly, tilting my head as if the
