The forest was still. Only the rustle of leaves broke the silence, the faint shimmer of filtered light slipping through the thick canopy above us. Even with Ravić's protective cloak, drawn tight above my head and shoulders, I could still feel the burn of daylight pressing at the edges.
A stark reminder that we weren't meant to be here for long.
Slowly, I walked over to the stone pedestal, where Jonathan Di Castillo's body laid before me, wrapped in a black cloth, on top of a stone pedestal. No guards. No audience. Just Angelo and I, surrounded by the trees that bore witness in place of men.
Angelo was crumpled by his father's side, his body trembling as if the weight of his grief might crush him whole. His hands clenched into fists, digging into the cold ground, his head bowed so low, it seemed like his very soul was breaking.
I stood frozen, heart pounding, afraid that if I moved, I'd shatter the fragile silence that hung between us, holding us together.
