I moved into a forest.
Not walking. Just suddenly present, the way you exist in dreams, my body like a living flame suspended in a place it had no right to be. Visible to myself, invisible to them. My eyes wide open. Watching.
Four women sat in a tight circle on the forest floor, knees touching, hands joined. Ancient trees rose around them, thick trunks wrapped in moss, moonlight slicing through the canopy in silver blades that painted the fallen leaves in cold blue-white.
Eleanor's face, younger, but unmistakably her, tight with exhaustion. Sophia Vale sat directly across from her, the same composed mask I had seen in her oval office. Even here, surrounded by dying legacies, her posture stayed ruler-straight, shoulders squared beneath dark robes.
The woman with short white hair and skin that looked untouched by time nodded slowly. "I think I'm the last Veyron."
"I'm so sorry, Monica," Sophia said, her voice low.
