"Her handwriting was a command."
Silver found it waiting on her desk when she got back from her morning lecture. Thick envelope, Yale mailroom seal, and her name written in her mother's sharp, familiar cursive.
Even before opening it, she knew it wouldn't be good.
She stared at the envelope for a long moment, her fingers hovering over the flap. The paper felt expensive under her touch, the kind Leona always used for correspondence she deemed important. Silver could picture her mother at the mahogany desk in their Georgia home, pen poised with military precision, every loop and slant deliberate.
Americus would've ripped it open without hesitation. Riley would've read it out loud in a dramatic tone until Silver laughed. But right now, alone in the quiet dorm room with afternoon light slanting through the Gothic windows, it just felt heavy.
She sighed and tore it open.
Silver,
