Chapter 17. Shatter the Veil

The chamber fell into an almost reverent silence the moment they released her back into its sparse embrace, broken only by the soft, persistent hiss of incense coiling upward and clinging to every stone surface like a reluctant memory. Lora lay curled on the narrow iron-framed bed, her knees drawn up close enough to touch her chin, her wrists raw and tender from those unyielding cords that had held her fast. Every ragged breath sent a tremor of heat pulsing through her throat, where the twin marks—one bright as a smoldering ember, the other a shadowy smudge beneath the skin—wrestled each other into restless oblivion.

Her eyelids felt leaden, as if she’d been reading by candlelight until her eyes simply refused to stay open any longer. She wanted to close them, to stave off the memory of marble pillars and echoing voices that had sentenced her to “correction.” Yet when sleep finally came, it was no sanctuary. Instead, it swept over her with the force of a rising tide, tumbling