The word dungeon lands hard, sharp and final, and Hazel’s face drains of colour while Violet’s jaw tightens, fury flashing briefly before she reins it back into something brittle and cold.
They don’t apologise, and they don’t look at me again.
They turn and leave, shoulders stiff and heels clicking sharply against the floor, and only when the door closes behind them does the room finally exhale.
I realise then that my hands are shaking.
Axel’s thumb brushes lightly over my knuckles, grounding, and Atticus leans in just enough to murmur that I did well, like I needed permission to believe that I hadn’t made things worse just by existing.
The rest of the night passes in a blur, with people warmer and more open now, curiosity tempered by acceptance, and I answer questions and smile when
