Aurora's POV
Every place where a single, decisive act would snap the structure back into alignment like a bone set too late but still fixable.
It would be so easy.
One order.
One visible display.
One unmistakable assertion that I was still the axis around which this world turned.
The temptation bloomed sharp and clean.
Not rage.
Not grief.
Certainty.
That frightened me more than anything else.
Certainty is what people use to justify terrible things.
I found Stefano on the parapet later, staring out at the same horizon I'd watched that morning. The wind caught at his coat, ruffling it restlessly. He looked older somehow not weaker, just worn thinner by decisions that didn't feel like choices anymore.
"They're blaming restraint," he said without turning.
"I know."
He hesitated. I felt it through the bond like a pause in breath.
"They're also blaming you."
"I know."
That made him look at me.
"You're not angry," he said.
"I am," I replied. "Just not at them."
