The air in Liora's room thickened after the wardrobe door slammed shut again. The smell lingered—metallic and sharp, seeping into everything. The lamplight flickered across the walls, bending shadows into strange shapes that looked almost alive.
Aira stood frozen a few paces from the wardrobe, one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide as if she could erase what she had just seen by refusing to blink. "Liora," she whispered, her voice breaking. "What… what did you do?"
Liora sat on the edge of the bed, her head bowed, her fingers tangled together as if in prayer. "You saw it already," she said softly, her tone far too calm for what had just happened. "There's no need to ask again."
Aira took an unsteady step forward. The old wooden floor groaned beneath her, echoing the tremor in her chest. "You can't just—Liora, this isn't you. We have to go to Savira. Now."
