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... nara sat rigidly on the edge of her chair, her fingers gripping the armrests with white-knuckled force. Across from her, Daena stood by the window, arms crossed, her expression carved from stone. Ananara, for once, wasn’t making a sarcastic comment. He sat on the table, unnervingly quiet, his leafy form unusually still.

No one had spoken in several minutes.

They had escaped. Barely. But the memory of her—Liria, but not Liria—was seared into their minds.

"I still can’t bel ...

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