Between Fear and Faith.

Elena's point of view.

With my back pressed against the cool bathroom wall, I wait for the nausea to pass. The bitter, metallic stench still lingers in my mind, so raw and fleshy — like rust and death. I shudder at the memory.

Whose blood was on Vanda’s face? He’s been on edge during training, but it must’ve been a rogue’s. It has to be.

I push myself off the floor and flush the toilet. There wasn’t much to throw up — my nerves over the luncheon had killed my appetite, leaving me with nothing but a few bites of fruit and cheese this morning. Still, the way my body convulsed felt like I’d emptied myself entirely.

I rinse my mouth until the sour taste fades, then scrub my hands clean.

“How are you feeling?” Elizabeth’s voice comes softly from the other side of the door. She must have stayed close. I open it to find her stepping back.

“I think it’s passed.”

Ben appears from the kitchen, offering me a small chocolate truffle. “For your breath,” he says with a smirk.

I take it gratefully,