Chapter 133

Avery

"I don't remember much," she said, and her voice was hoarse, rusty with disuse and weighted with old pain. "Most of it's just... fragments. Impressions. I was so young when I got away, and I think maybe my mind protected me by letting the details blur." Her hands twisted together, knuckles going white. "I remember the cage. The cold. My mother's voice when she sang to me at night, trying to