“At least let things settle for a day. Let everyone calm—”
“There is no calming down from this, Rayana. It’s now or I’m never taking you. Decide.”
The ultimatum hangs in the air.
And I watch Rayana’s face cycle through a dozen emotions in the span of three seconds — horror at what she’s witnessed, guilt at her role in engineering this trip, grief for so much, and underneath all of it, the desperate, clawing need of a dying woman who wants to see her mother’s grave before her body gives out.
She stands. Slowly. Her hands shaking.
“I’m sorry,” she says, looking at me. And there’s something genuine in it, something stripped of any malicious intent. “Ember. I’m sorry. I didn’t want this. Whatever you think of me, I didn’t—”
“Congratulations,” I say, and my voice comes out strange and hol
