Celeste looked completely out of place in the library. Her silk robe hung loosely on her frame, and for once, her expression wasn't sharp or smug. She looked pale. Tired. Real.
"I saw her," she said, arms folded tightly. "Two nights ago. Near the old greenhouse."
Aria blinked. "Saw who?"
Celeste hesitated. "Amara."
For a moment, nothing moved. Not the air. Not the fire. Not Aria.
"That's not funny," she said quietly.
Celeste shook her head. "I'm not joking. I wouldn't waste my time trying to scare you. I was out there... walking, clearing my head. And I saw someone watching me from the trees. Long hair. Same coat Amara used to wear that winter she—" Her voice faltered. "It was her. I know it."
Aria stepped back, the photo still clenched in her hand. Her stomach twisted.
"Why are you only telling me this now?"
"Because I didn't want to believe it either," Celeste said. "And because it's you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Celeste's eyes met hers. No venom. Just something close to regret. "You're always chasing ghosts, Aria. I didn't want to feed the fire."
Aria looked down at the letter again, the familiar handwriting. The old photograph. The laughter she could still hear if she closed her eyes.
If Amara was alive... what had she been hiding all this time?