The hours bled into each other, slow and excruciating. They felt less like the passage of time and more like the slow torture of existence unraveling, moment by agonizing moment. Heiko lay slumped in the dark, his body fevered and drenched in sweat. His chains clinked softly as he shifted, weakly, each movement scraping silver against raw flesh.
Every time he closed his eyes, the memories came back sharper—more painful.
Clarity was a double-edged sword.
He had been so blind.
His mind churned now, filled with pieces of a puzzle he had refused to see until it was too late. Uncle Peter. Cousin Thas.
How many times had Alia tried to warn him? How many carefully veiled questions had she asked, trying to get him to see what she saw?
And how many times had he defended them?
A bitter laugh
