Tamara’s POV The kitchen carried the rich smell of soup mixed with the faint citrus of the tea Jenna had insisted on brewing. Persia had left an hour ago. I sat at the table, my fingers tracing the worn grooves in the wood, trying to remember how home used to feel. I never thought I would come back here. Jenna moved around the counter, her movements unusually subdued. Normally she was a whirlwind, clinking spoons, humming, teasing but tonight she was quiet. She set a mug in front of me, her pink-manicured nails clicking against the ceramic. “I’m sorry, Mara,” she said softly. She didn’t look at me, her eyes stayed fixed on the steam curling upward. I blinked, startled. “For what? You’ve been the only thing keeping me sane.” “For not believing you sooner,” she whispered, finally meeting my gaze. Her expression was raw, stripped of her usual spark, replaced by aching guilt. “The bite, when Percy did what he did… it was too much. I let you stay trapped in that exile because I wa
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