The trees faded into mist again, and I followed the echo of her scream into the next layer of the veil.
The Veil of Pain.
I knew it before the shadows whispered it. Before the air turned sharp and cold, like breathing in shards of glass. This place didn't just want me to see pain-it wanted me to feel it.
Not mine.
Hers.
The first memory struck like a blade through my chest.
Heather-barely thirteen-curled in the corner of a cold, damp room. Her arm twisted unnaturally. Blood on her temple. Her breaths shallow.
Marcus stood above her, bloodied knuckles flexing, eyes filled with nothing but dominance and disdain.
"Get up," he growled.
She tried.
Tried so hard.
But her legs gave out and she crumpled, whispering, "I'm sorry."
That single word shattered something inside me.
She had
