Zara’s POV
My legs still felt shaky, like they’d been carved out from under me during that interrogation. Every whisper in the hallway seemed to follow me, words I couldn’t catch but knew were aimed at me.
Murderer. Freak. Trouble.
I kept my eyes fixed on Aunt May’s steady back, the confident sway of her coat, her heels clicking against the marble floors like a metronome I tried to match my breathing to. She never hesitated. Not once. She moved as if the whole world could scream in her face and she’d still walk taller.
When we stepped outside, the drizzle from earlier had turned into a light mist, cool against my skin. Aunt May didn’t slow. Her car was parked just beyond the gates, sleek and black, the kind of car that screamed both wealth and warning. A driver in a pressed suit steppe
