▃▃▃ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴏꜰ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜰᴏᴏʟ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱʜᴇ ɪꜱ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʙᴀᴅ-ᴊ ɪʀᴏɴ ᴡᴏʀᴅ
▃▃ ʙᴏᴏᴋ 1 ▃▃ In which the only daughter of Persephone sneaks on a quest to see the world for the first time since she's been at camp. The daughter of wisdom...
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𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⭑ ‧₊˚ ⋅ જ⁀➴๋࣭ ⭑๋࣭ ⭑
I was only looking for a book. Something to fill the silence that had been pressing on my chest all morning like a weight I couldn't name.
Dominic's bag was unzipped-slightly. It shouldn't have meant anything. But my fingers moved before I could stop them, tugging the zipper just a little farther, just enough to see.
It felt too safe in that cottage. Too warm. Too soft.
And that should've been my first warning.
The photo's folded like a secret. I almost miss it-tucked between a crumpled hoodie and that stupid leather journal he always kept guarded. But when I pull it out, my heart stops.
It's me.
Me and Lysander.
I'm maybe 10. He's next to me, grinning like he knows something I don't. My hair's a mess from the wind, and we're pressed close, caught in some inside joke. There's sunlight behind us, bleeding into the glass-like the world paused just long enough to remember us like this. He's pointing at the camera. I'm smiling so hard it aches.
I stare at it for too long. It's creased from being touched so much.
I never gave him this. Never showed it to anyone.
How does he have this?
The warmth in my chest dies. Dread pours in like a cold tide, rising fast, swallowing everything.
This was from Camp. This wasn't public. This wasn't something anyone should've had.
Unless they'd been watching.
I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat wouldn't go down.
I felt her-Nyx-curling like shadow behind my ribs. Her warnings, soft and cold and echoing.
Then every word, every warning Nyx ever said went through my head.
My hands were shaking. I backed away from the bag, from the photo, from the truth curling in my gut like smoke before fire. The tea in my mug was trembling. Or maybe I was.
That's when I heard it.
"Elara."
I clutch the photo so hard it crumples. The edges dig into my fingers.
I burst out the back door barefoot, still holding my stupid mug of tea.
