The bookstore smelled of old paper and fresh coffee, a scent that usually signaled comfort but today felt like anticipation. Bella sat behind a small table stacked with copies of The Noise. The cover was simple: a single wave crashing against a stone wall. No picture of her. No subtitle promising healing. Just the title.
The line stretched out the door. People she didn't know. People who had read the manuscript before publication. People who knew her name not from the foundation, but from the words she had written in the quiet of her study.
David stood near the back of the room. He wasn't hovering. He was leaning against a bookshelf, reading a novel, giving her space. He knew she needed to do this alone.
The first person in line was a woman. Young. Maybe twenty. She held the book with b
