Chapter Sixty–four:
The air inside Luna's home was heavy, thick with the sharp, medicinal tang of crushed herbs, the scent of pine, and the lingering, metallic ghost of dried blood. It was a stark, quiet contrast to the sterile, neon-lit nightmare of the Golden Empire, yet the silence here felt just as oppressive. It was the kind of silence that followed a funeral—a heavy shroud that settled over the furniture and the floors, marking the boundary between the people they used to be and the survivors they had become.
