SERAPHINA "SERA" MORTEZ'S POINT OF VIEW
"Good heavens, Phina—you watch yourself out there, you hear? Flight's all squared away, but gosh alive, I'm going to miss you something fierce."
Auntie Mercing's hand squeezed mine, warm and rough from years of washing clothes and tending gardens. The airport hummed around us-wheels on tile, announcements crackling over speakers, the sweet-sour smell of coffee and fast food hanging thick in the air. I smiled, leaning into her touch; I'd never thought she'd carve out hours of her day to see us off.
Getting ready to leave had taken nearly a week. No passports to start with-she'd sat beside me at the consulate, sliding forms across the counter, whispering which boxes to check when my hands shook too hard to write straight. Rio and Leo stayed with Maria those days, safe in a house that never creaked at night or made me reach for the lamp every time a car passed.
