The dinner table was small, barely large enough for three people, its surface scarred with the marks of years of use. A simple meal of roasted meat and vegetables sat in the center, steam rising in curling wisps that dissipated into the cool evening air.
Iva sat between Nick and her father, her hands wrapped around her cup of water, her appetite vanished. She pushed the food around her plate, her movements mechanical, her gaze fixed on the table in front of her.
The atmosphere was tense.
She could feel it in the air—the unspoken words, the barely contained frustration, the weight of expectations pressing down on her from all sides. It was a familiar feeling, one that she had grown accustomed to over the weeks since her rescue.
But tonight, it felt heavier than usual.
Her father's eyes
