Astrid’s POVThe air smelled different this morning—crisp, cold, but not sharp, more like the quiet before something shifts, the kind of cold that holds its breath as if the world knows something’s about to happen but refuses to speak it aloud. I stood by the open window of the guest room Liam had given me, lacing the last strap of the leather satchel that hung across my shoulder, the contents inside already checked, double-checked, and secured long before the sun started rising over the ridge.Everything was ready, at least on the outside.Inside, though, was something else entirely—still, but not soft; not grief this time, not despair, just this quiet certainty that I had run out of space for waiting, for second chances, for hope that someone else would fix the damage Scarlett had caused, because if there was ever a time to stop allowing her to write my story, it was now, and this time, I wasn’t just going after what she stole—I was going to take it back and make sure she never touc
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