Pamela's POV
The event was over, but its impact stayed with me like a delayed reaction.
All day, people cheered, called me Luna, and wished me well. Their voices still echoed as I sat in the room Ambrose's pack had prepared for me, looking at the veil placed neatly on the dresser.
I told myself I should be angry, hopeless, or full of hate, but what I felt most was just tired. Each breath was hard, every thought covered by the memory of many people looking at me with trust.
If it had not been forced, I would have enjoyed the smiles, I would have cherished every laughter I heard.
But the Ambrose I knew had left me no choice but to doubt the words of over a hundred people.
None of them felt real. My mind had played tricks in my eyes, spotting the hidden hate for me behind those welcoming eyes.
I couldn't believe anything that had to do with Ambrose.
Just as I got out of the shower and into my robe.
Someone knocked on the door.
Slow. Controlled.
