The air in the drawing room felt as though it had turned to liquid lead, heavy and suffocating. Verona's lungs burned with every shallow breath, her gaze fixed on Varon's hand.
Verona felt the blood drain from her face, a cold numbness spreading from her chest to her very fingertips. "Liera..."
A cold understanding spread through Verona's chest, sharper than the fear twisting in her stomach. So that was why. Why every call she had sent south had vanished into silence, why the mirror had gone dark no matter how many times she tried.
It hadn't been distance, or illness, or fading affection. It had been him. DUke Vernhardt had found the mirror. He had found their secret, and the moment he did, every path between them had been cut. She had been silenced.
