Liora’s POVJohnathan’s laughter was the one sound that could still cut through the heaviness pressing on my chest.It echoed now, high and wild, as he darted across the clearing with a stick in his hand, pretending it was a sword. The late morning sun lit up his messy curls, and his bare feet kicked up little clouds of dirt as he ran. He was five—too small to hold the weight of our world, yet somehow he was the only reason I hadn’t already been crushed by it.“Careful, pup,” I called, leaning against the porch rail. “If you fall and break your nose again, I’m not fixing it this time.”He stopped, grinning at me, dimples flashing. “You always fix it, Mama. You’re magic.”I laughed, though it cracked at the edges. Magic. If only. My life felt like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap. But I never let him see that. To Johnathan, I was unshakable. That lie kept us both going—until it wouldn’t.He ran back toward me, clutching his stick-sword. “When’s Papa coming back?”The question t
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