"Chains may scar the body, but they cannot bind the soul that refuses to kneel."
An hour later, my heartbeat thudded too loudly in my ears, betraying every storm within me. The fire crackled in the hearth, but I felt no warmth, only a heaviness pressing down on me. Taemin sat across from me, wrapped in a soft cloak Nyra had given her, her hair still damp from the bath. Even with the faint glow of candlelight softening her features, the scars stood out, but all were visible on her skin, and some sat in her eyes, etched deep, carved from years of pain.
I wanted to speak, to ask a hundred questions, to demand answers that would erase the horrors I already suspected. But when she looked at me, truly looked at me, my throat closed.
"You're staring," she teased softly, though her voice carried no real playfulness. "Still making sure I'm real?"
