ISABELLA’S POV I knew before I let myself know. That was how it worked sometimes — the body carrying information that the mind wasn’t ready to process, storing it somewhere accessible but not examined, waiting for the moment when the examination became unavoidable. The moment became unavoidable on a Wednesday morning in the fourth week. I’d been tired. Not the exhaustion of aftermath — that I’d been managing, the specific bone-deep tiredness of someone who had run on too little for too long and was slowly, imperfectly, reconstructing normal. That kind of tired had a quality I recognized and a direction it was moving in. This was different. Different in the morning specifically. The specific quality of mornings being wrong in a way that the rest of the day wasn’t. Marta came to me. Not because I’d asked for her — because Marta was the healer of Evergreen and Marta had known me since before I could form complete sentences and Marta had the specific gift of arriving when she was
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