And Raven—Miss Warrior—whatever name she carried. She had moments that reminded me of Claire.
The way she bent protectively over Leo. The way her voice softened when she thought no one listened. The way she carried pain in silence.
Coincidence. That’s all it could be.
And yet the resemblance pressed against me like a ghost I couldn’t shake. A small knock pulled me back.
When I turned, Leo stood in the doorway, fingers gripping the frame. “Papa?” His voice was small, hesitant.
“Yes, son,” I said, softening. “Come in.”
He shuffled forward, climbing onto the chair across from me. His shoulders slumped. “Miss Warrior left, didn’t she?”
The truth landed heavier than expected.
“Yes. She had business to attend to,” I said. My words felt too thin, too hollow.
He was holding back his tears
