We woke to the sound of helicopters.Not close—not yet—but close enough. The thrum of rotors echoed off the mountains, bouncing between peaks like a warning. Celeste was already standing at the window, her silhouette sharp against the grey dawn."Hana's outside," she said without turning. "She says they're search and rescue. Looking for hikers stranded by the storm.""Do you believe her?""No." Celeste turned. Her face was drawn, exhausted, but her eyes were clear. "But I believe she'll keep us safe."I pushed myself off the couch. The fire had died overnight, leaving only embers and the smell of smoke. Emilia was still asleep in the armchair, her head tilted back, her mouth slightly open. She looked younger in sleep. Less armored."The broadcast," I said. "What's the reaction?"Celeste handed me her phone. The screen was flooded with notifications—news alerts, social media posts, messages from numbers I didn't recognize. I scrolled through the headlines.Celeste Laurent Accuses Forme
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