EMBER’S POV
We walk slowly through the woods, Rafael matching his pace to mine. He doesn’t ask questions or push for explanations. He guides me toward the main house with a patience I didn’t know he possessed.
He settles me on a couch in a room I don’t recognize — some kind of sitting room, all warm wood and soft lighting. Then he disappears for a moment and returns with a blanket, a cup of tea, a small bottle of pills.
“For the anxiety,” he says, shaking one into his palm. “I used to have them too. When I first moved from Spain. The pressure, the expectations, the feeling that everyone wanted something from me and I didn’t know who to trust.”
I take the pill and drink the tea and let the warmth seep into my frozen limbs, too numb to do anything else.
“I’m sorry,” I manage finally. “F
