Chapter 97 Illusions Of Perfection

• The mansion rises before us like a perfect illusion, its windows gleaming in the afternoon sun as if they’d never been shattered by gunfire. Each step up the familiar path feels surreal—the manicured lawn bears no trace of footprints, the flower beds show no sign of being trampled. Even the air smells normal: jasmine and fresh-cut grass instead of gunpowder and fear.
• Like nothing ever happened. Like we didn’t run for our lives.
• I move up the front steps with nervous feet, hearing Tavin walking just behind me. The familiarity of his presence at my back should be comforting, but something about it feels different now. Changed. Like so many other things I can’t afford to think about.