Aria's POV
"Do you think things will change this time?" I asked, shifting the strap of my bag on my shoulder as we moved through the crowded terminal.
The city skyline beyond the glass hadn't changed—it still looked sharp, distant, and unwelcoming.
Jets thundered above, travelers brushed past in a blur, and beneath my steady steps, unease stirred.
Godson walked a step ahead, his expression unreadable, like a man carrying secrets stitched into his skin.
He didn't waste words—unless they cut deep or served a purpose.
Maya stayed close beside me, chewing on her bottom lip, her silence louder than words, the only sign of her nervous energy.
"Different? No," she muttered. "But we're different. That's what counts."
We'd found Lila. Alive. Safe. Traumatized, yes—but unbroken, fierce in that quiet way only survivors understand.
