Amara froze. The blanket she'd been clutching slid halfway off her lap, pooling on the floor unnoticed. Her gaze searched Celeste's face as if she'd misheard.
"Elias?" she whispered, tasting the name like it was poison. "You're telling me he's… involved?"
Celeste's jaw tightened. She didn't look away. "Not just involved, Mara. He's rooted. He's tied so deep into this mess that sending him away for a few days won't sever anything. It's who he is now."
Amara shook her head. Strands of her hair fell into her eyes. "No. No, I don't—" Her voice faltered. "He's always been reckless, yes, but—"
"But you never imagined he'd carry a gun into your house," Celeste cut in gently, her tone steady but unyielding.
The truth sat heavy between them.
Amara's lips parted, but no words came. Her hands trembled against her knees, with her nails digging into her skin as though grounding herself.
