Chapter 106: Amelia’s Grief
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A heavy silence filled the cave, broken only by the occasional drip of water echoing off the damp stone walls. The air was cold, carrying the faint scent of earth and moss, but none of them paid attention to their surroundings.
Amelia sat on a flat rock near the cave wall, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her green eyes, usually sharp and focused, were distant—glassy, as if staring at something far beyond the cave's darkness. She hadn't spoken much since they arrived one hour ago, answering only when necessary, her voice hollow.
Mikael glanced at her but said nothing. He recognized that kind of silence—the weight of emotions pressing down until speaking felt pointless. Lyra, sitting a short distance away, fidgeted with the hem of her cloak, occasionally casting hesitant glances at Amelia, unsure whether to say something or not.
The grief in Amelia's expression was subtle, but it was there. Her breathing was steady, but too controlled, as if she was forcing herself to stay composed. Her fingers clenched against her arms, trembling slightly, though she probably didn't realize it.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she finally spoke.
"She's gone."
It wasn't a question, nor did it need an answer. They all knew. Shadow had sacrificed herself so they could escape.
Mikael remained silent, watching her carefully.
Amelia's grip on her arms tightened. "And my father... he's probably..." Her voice caught, but she swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "He's dead too, isn't he?"
Still, Mikael didn't answer. He wasn't the type to offer empty reassurances, and she knew that.