The morning sun had risen over the ridge, painting the world in shades of gold and amber. I stood at the edge of the clearing, watching Roran from a distance.
He was still kneeling before Clara's grave, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed.
But something was different now.
The crushing weight that had pressed down on him for fourteen years seemed lighter somehow, as if the story he had finally told had cracked something open inside him. The sunlight fell on his face, and for the first time since I had met him, Roran looked like he was actually breathing.
Not just existing. Breathing.
I smiled a little, then turned my gaze away from him and looked toward the girl sitting against a rock a few feet behind me.
Mia was slumped against the stone, her back pressed against its rough surface, her breathing uneven and shallow. Blood dripped from her nose, and thin red lines trailed from the corners of her eyes, staining her pale cheeks.
