I notice Hazel and Violet before either of them dares to look at me, and that alone tells me how far the balance has shifted.
Their cells sit a few paces down from my father’s, shadows clinging to the iron bars, and both of them are pressed low against the stone like prey animals that have learned too late what happens when attention turns sharp. Hazel’s shoulders are folded inward, her hands knotted together in front of her chest, and Violet’s head is bowed so far her hair spills forward and hides her face completely. They do not sneer, they do not whisper, they do not try to provoke me, and when my steps echo across the floor neither of them lifts their gaze.
They are afraid.
Not of punishment, not of the dungeon, but of me.
I take that in without reaction and turn back to the cell d
