Ghost-Aria moved closer in her peripheral vision, and Liora could see her more clearly now than before. She was beautiful even as a hallucination, with delicate features and kind eyes that suggested gentleness and compassion. She looked like someone who would have been gentle with children, someone who would have helped people without expecting anything in return. Someone who didn't deserve to be murdered in cold blood.
"I'm sorry," Liora whispered to the ghost that might not even be there. "I'm sorry someone killed you. I'm sorry your daughter lost her mother. I'm sorry for all of it. But it wasn't me. Please... please believe me."
The ghost didn't respond, didn't move, just stood there watching with those sad, dead eyes.
"She's talking to ghosts now," Darius said with evident amusement. "This is getting really good."
"Should we report it to the Alpha?" Kira asked.
"Nah. Let her spiral a bit more. It's entertaining to watch."
Liora closed her eyes reflexively, then immediately forced them open again with conscious effort. Every time she closed them, she saw worse things flooding her mind's eye, dead children with accusatory stares, burning buildings collapsing, the woman with her face smiling as she pulled the trigger and ended lives.
Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake.
She started counting mechanically, grasping at the simple task to anchor herself. One. Two. Three. Four. Somewhere around three thousand, she lost track completely and had to start over.
The lights seemed to pulse in rhythm with her heartbeat, creating a disorienting strobe effect. The music became a physical force, pressing down on her skull like a crushing weight. The photographs on the floor started moving again in her compromised vision, bodies twitching, eyes opening and focusing on her, mouths forming silent accusations that she could almost hear.
"Not real," Liora muttered to herself like a mantra. "Not real. Not real."
But what was real anymore? How could she trust her own perceptions when her brain was literally malfunctioning from lack of sleep, creating hallucinations that looked and felt as solid as reality?
A new thought occurred to her, sharp and terrifying in its implications: What if they're right? What if I really am guilty and I've just forgotten? What if the trauma made me block it out completely and create a false reality where I'm innocent?
"No," she said firmly, trying to anchor herself to something solid and true. "No, I know who I am. I know what I've done and haven't done. I'm not a killer. I'm not....."
The elevator dinged, cutting through her spiraling thoughts.
Liora's head jerked toward the sound, her heart rate spiking with renewed fear and adrenaline. Thessian stepped out of the elevator, and this time he wasn't alone.
He was carrying a small child in his arms, a girl who looked maybe six or seven years old, with dark hair that fell in soft waves around her face and amber eyes that glowed with that distinctive werewolf quality. She wore pajamas decorated with cartoon wolves and clutched a stuffed bear protectively to her chest.
Liora's blood ran cold with new horror and understanding.
"Darius, Kira," Thessian said quietly, his voice brooking no argument. "Give us the room."
The guards bowed respectfully and headed for the elevator without question. Within moments, Liora was alone with the Alpha King and the child, his daughter, she realized with dawning comprehension.
Thessian walked to the cage with measured steps, the little girl in his arms looking at Liora with wide, curious eyes that held no hatred, only innocent interest.
"This is Nyla," Thessian said, his voice carefully controlled but with emotion lurking beneath the surface. "My daughter. Aria's daughter."
The little girl, Nyla, studied Liora with the unnerving directness that only children possess, the ability to see through pretense and masks that adults lose somewhere along the way.
"That's the bad lady?" she asked her father with childlike curiosity. "The one who hurt Mommy?"
Thessian's jaw clenched visibly, muscles jumping beneath his skin. "Yes, baby. That's her."
"She doesn't look mean," Nyla said, tilting her head thoughtfully. "She looks sad and scared."
"Looks can be deceiving," Thessian said, his voice tight with controlled emotion.
Liora couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but stare at this beautiful child, this innocent little girl who'd lost her mother, and feel something break inside her chest like ice cracking under pressure. This was what the killer had stolen. Not just a life, but a mother, a daughter's whole world, the foundation of a child's sense of safety and love.