Chapter 38. The memory Stone (2)

Silas didn’t speak. He let her breathe.

Seraphina sat at the edge of the ruin, trembling hands pressed to the cold stone, her heart caught in her throat, lungs burning with silence. The memory hadn’t faded it clung to her ribs, her skin, her very breath like smoke after fire.

It was one thing to fight a curse. Another to bear its origin.

She wiped her face, not realizing she’d been crying until her hand came back wet. The tears weren’t just for the boy who had become Xeroth.

They were for herself.

For the parts of her that recognized him.

For every time she had been told she was too much, too dangerous, too wrong. For every truth she had silenced in her own blood to keep others comfortable. For every door slammed in her face by the hands of those who once promised love.

Betrayal didn’t always come with knives.

Sometimes, it came with silence.

With backs turned.

With names taken.

She had seen it now in him. The boy they exiled for caring too much. For seeing too clearly. For rememberin