That night, everyone carried an ashen expression, the shadow of the quarrel between Evelyn, Celeste, and Art lingering among them. The so-called bonfire party had lost all its warmth, abruptly extinguished before it could even fulfill its purpose.
Celeste was carried back to her home by Zyon, while the others dispersed into the night without a word. Nobody had the courage, nor the audacity, to question Art or Evelyn. Their outburst had been loud, sharp, even ugly—but it wasn't without reason. They weren't entirely wrong.
And though no one said it outright, everyone knew: Celeste had crossed a line. At least for the moment, she was in the wrong. So, in their own quiet, cowardly way, they chose to leave it at that, to keep the act forgotten, swept under the rug.
When the night finally swallowed the embers, each of them returned to their respective homes. Celeste, however, found herself confined to her own silence.
