Elara POV
The day felt longer than it should. The light through the narrow window was thin, gray, and mean. Every corner of the tower carried that same heaviness—the kind that settles when people stop saying what they mean.
Mira came in holding a tray. Soup, bread, something that tried to smell like comfort. "You didn't eat breakfast," she said.
"I forgot."
She gave me that look she always gave when I lied badly. "Then remember now."
She set the tray on the table, but didn't leave. She stayed close, eyes steady. I tried to make my hand move toward the bowl, but even the smell turned my stomach. It reminded me of old kitchens, of salt and ash.
"Do you even remember what hunger feels like?" she asked softly.
Her question stopped me. For a moment, the room slipped away.
