Chapter Thirteen Nora didn’t speak to anyone for two full days. She skipped lectures. She avoided her phone. She barely ate, and even when she did, the food tasted like ash. Her sketchbook, usually her sanctuary, remained closed, its pages mocking her silence. Her light the quiet glow that had always followed her flickered and dimmed. By Sunday evening, she emerged like someone reborn from ashes, but colder, sharper, impenetrable. Her clothes were black, from the fitted blouse down to her boots, and her lips were painted a bold red, the color of defiance. She didn’t speak. She didn’t seek comfort. She moved through the campus like a storm contained in human form. Trisha watched her approach the art studio the next morning, heels clicking against the linoleum floor, jaw set like steel. She hesitated before speaking. “You… okay?” she whispered, voice tentative. Nora didn’t look up. Her eyes were shadowed, unreadable. “I’m not broken,” she said flatly. “Just awake.” Trisha frowned b
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