Chapter 15 · Her Mother's Last Lie

The glass was warm under my hand. Too warm. Like something living pressed against the other side.

"Mara, please." My mother's voice again. Softer this time. The kind of soft she used when I was small and scared of thunder. "I don't have much time."

Ronan grabbed my wrist. "Don't."

I shook him off. The shape inside the glass moved closer. Features sharpened. Dark hair. The curve of a jaw I hadn't seen in six years.

"Mom?"

The figure pressed both palms flat against the barrier. I could see her face now. The scar above her left eyebrow. The way her mouth pulled tight when she was holding something back.

"You need to remember," she said. "Before they take the rest."

"The rest of what?" My voice cracked.

Ronan was saying something behind me. Warning me. But the glass under my palm was pulsing now. Hot then cold then hot again. Like a heartbeat.

"The night I died," my mother said. "You were there. You saw."

"I wasn't—" The words died. Because I was starting to remember. Not the sanitized version the family told me. Not the empty space where that night should be. Something else.