Miri's Pov
The following morning, I sat with Uncle Corin and Aunt Sera, my heart in my throat. The space was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fireplace and the gentle hiss of the tea Aunt Sera had poured but forgotten to touch. My hands twisted around the fabric of my shirt until the seams dug into my palms.
They were both watching me with steady patience—Uncle Corin, broad shoulders braced against the chair like he was holding the weight of the world, and Aunt Sera, her eyes soft but sharp, like she could see right through me.
I drew a breath that felt like glass shards scraping down my lungs. "It's about Denise."
Neither of them flinched, though I caught the twitch in Corin's jaw. He knew. Maybe not the details, but enough to brace himself.
