The cottage deepened into quiet. Outside, wind pushed low against the shutters. Waves crashed far below, a steady, soft roar. Inside, the hearth embers pulsed, faint orange fading to gray ash at the edges. Lia shifted on the pallet near Anna''s chair, the rough blanket rustling, followed by the soft intake and release of the child''s breath. Anna sat in the heavy wooden chair, motionless, her eyes open, gaze fixed on the dying glow. Her own breathing stayed shallow, barely stirring the stained bandages tight across her ribs.
Floorboards groaned near the entrance. Miriam entered, a shadow against the weak dawn light filtering through the shutters. She carried a chipped tin cup; a thin wisp of steam rose. A faint, herbal scent touched the air. Miriam stopped beside the chair. "Anna?" The murmur sounded soft. She held out the cup.
Anna''s gaze remained on the hearth. Her hands lay still on the coarse blanket covering her legs. Miriam nudged the cup against Anna''s uninjured hand. Fingers trembled faint, then closed slow around the metal''s faint warmth. Anna lifted the cup, wrist shaking. She took a small sip, liquid wetting her lips, then lowered the cup back to her lap. Metal clinked faint against a vest buckle. Her eyes slid away from Miriam''s watching face, settling on the rough texture of the stone hearth.
Miriam knelt beside the chair, the floorboards creaking under her weight. Her hand rested light on the wooden armrest, close but not touching Anna. "The air is cool this morning, Anna," Miriam murmured, her voice a low thread against the wind''s hum. "Might clear your head. Just to the steps? We sit a moment?"
Anna stayed still. Sounds: the wind, the waves, Lia''s breathing, the soft pop of a dying ember. The silence stretched. Finally, Anna''s head gave a small, stiff movement, a dip of her chin. She pushed with her good hand against the chair arm. Her body tightened. A low sound escaped her tight lips as she pushed herself vertical. She stood, swaying, one hand pressed flat against her bandaged side, the other gripping the chair back, knuckles white. Each breath scraped shallow in her throat. She took a slow step, then another, leaning heavily against the wall. Her boots dragged, scuffing trails in the packed earth floor. Miriam moved close behind, silent, hands hovering near Anna''s back.
Anna reached the doorway. Pushed the heavy wooden door open wider. A rush of cool, briny air washed over her face, damp, sharp with the scent of salt and wet stone. She stopped, framed in the opening, gaze fixed down on the worn threshold stone. Then her eyes lifted, slow, past the gravel path, up towards the sky.
Dawn bled weak amber through heavy gray clouds. Above, higher, thinner layers caught the light, woven through with a vast, ghostly shimmer – the Betelgeuse nebula. Faint traces, coppery-red wisps and bruised violet shadows, swirled across the brightening sky. Her breath hitched. She flinched, pulling her torn jacket tighter, gaze dropping sharp back to the ground at her feet. Her stare did not move left, toward the fields.
"Slow, Anna," Miriam said softly from behind her. "One step."
Anna stepped onto the gravel path, her weight braced heavily on Miriam''s supporting arm wrapped firm around her waist. Stones crunched sharp under Anna''s dragging boot. Another slow step, head bowed low, eyes fixed on the uneven ground, the dark patches of damp earth. A faint tremor ran through her frame. Her hand pressed tight against her bandaged side. Miriam matched her pace, footsteps soft beside Anna''s heavier scrape. Wind tugged Anna''s loose blonde hair, whipping strands cold against her cheek. Sound pressed in: waves crashing, a heavy rhythm; the metallic creak-groan of turbines; a dog''s sharp bark; the intermittent CLINK of a hammer.
They passed Lira''s hut. Lira sat outside, hands moving fast through fishing nets. She looked up. Her hands froze on the rough mesh. Her gaze met Anna''s—a flicker—then slid away. A single, curt nod, head dipping low. Her fingers resumed rapid work, shoulders angled a fraction away. Anna looked back down at the path. Gravel grated under her boot sole. Eyes down... fast... Not like before. Her jaw tightened. Miriam''s grip tightened slightly around her waist.
Further on, near a leaning stack of weathered lumber, Jorin kicked at a loose stone. It skittered across the path. Another boy watched. Jorin saw Anna. He froze mid-kick. His eyes widened. He jerked his head towards the other boy, spun, and bolted behind the nearest hut. The second boy glanced toward Anna. His face paled, scrambled after Jorin. Anna''s next step faltered, her boot landing heavy, off-balance. Her weight sagged hard against Miriam''s supporting frame. Her hand pressed harder against her bandaged side, fingers digging slightly into the cloth. A sharp intake of breath hissed between her teeth. Fire pulsed beneath the bandages. Running... Jorin? Running away... Her gaze remained fixed low, on the rough ground directly in front of her feet. Miriam held her steady for a beat. They resumed their slow pace.
Near the pathway''s bend, Tobias carried a rough plank of wood on his shoulder. He stopped dead as they neared, his body rigid. He nodded towards Miriam, a quick, tight movement. His eyes flickered to Anna – a brief sweep over bandages, pale face – then darted away, locked onto the path ahead. He resumed walking, turning his back, his boot crunch fading rapidly. Anna kept moving, weight pressing heavier now against Miriam''s supporting frame, dragging her feet, each step slow, her head bowed so low her chin almost touched her chest. Back turned... quick steps... away. The wind felt colder against her exposed neck.
They reached the edge of the village. Paths diverged. One angled downward, rough stones slick with dampness, toward the shore. Waves exploded against black, jagged rocks there, sending plumes of white spray high into the air. The roar intensified here, a deep vibration rising through the soles of Anna''s boots. The other path led towards a squat structure of weathered wood and rusted metal tucked against the cliff base—the cable car station. Anna stopped, her boots crunching to a halt on the gravel, her weight sagging against Miriam. The wind snatched at her torn jacket sleeve. Miriam shifted her hold, her arm pressing firmer against Anna''s side. Silence stretched between the wind gusts. Only the wind, the rhythmic CRASH-HISS of waves below, and the distant turbine creak broke the stillness.
Anna turned, slow, joints stiff. Miriam''s hands pressed against Anna''s shoulders, guiding the turn. Anna''s balance shifted against the twisting motion. Each movement sent a low pulse of fire through her bandaged side. They moved towards the cable car station, Miriam matching Anna''s slow, dragging steps. Lia trailed beside Miriam, her small hand clutching the wildflowers.
The station showed deserted. A wooden platform, empty. A heavy iron lever, rusted brown, angled upward. The open-frame car hung suspended from thick cables disappearing up into the grey overcast sky. Anna leaned her weight against the station wall, breath scraping in her throat. Miriam walked to the lever, gripped the cold iron with both hands, hauled downward with a grunt. Metal screeched loud against metal. Gears groaned deep within the housing. The car descended, its movement steady but gradual, swaying minimally, settling onto the platform with a muted thud. Miriam secured the lever.
Miriam moved to Anna''s uninjured side, placed an arm firm around Anna''s waist, taking some of her weight. Anna leaned into the support, her breath catching sharp. Miriam guided her forward the few steps onto the wooden platform. Anna stopped beside the car''s open frame. She looked down at the metal floor inside. Took a slow breath. Placed her uninjured hand on the cold metal edge of the car frame. Leaned her weight heavily onto Miriam. Took a slow, high step over the car''s edge. Her boot scraped metal. She shifted her balance inward onto the car''s metal floor, the surface cold, vibrating faint beneath her soles. Miriam released her waist as Anna sank onto the rough wooden bench running along one side. Anna''s body slumped against the frame, her hand pressing hard against her ribs.
Lia scrambled in after her, boots thudding on the metal, sitting close beside Anna. The wildflowers showed a bright splash of purple and yellow against Lia''s patched tunic. Miriam stepped aboard, then reached for the main lever inside the car, giving it a hard shove downward. With a jolt and another groan of stressed metal, the car lifted, pulling away from the platform.
The car lurched upward, each movement a jerky pull against gravity. Metal plates vibrated under Anna''s boots. Wind whistled sharp through the open frame sides. Cold air hit her face, carrying the biting dampness of sea spray. Below, the village shrank—huts, paths, the dark smear of the wreckage site dwindling into small shapes against muddy fields. The deep roar of the waves lessened, overshadowed now by the creak-groan of thick cables straining overhead, the steady whine of wind against the shuddering metal frame. Anna kept her head bowed, eyes squeezed shut against the lurching sway, against the fire blooming sharp beneath her ribs with every jarring movement. Beside her, Lia sat still, small fingers clenched white around flower stems, eyes wide, watching the ground fall away below.
Upward movement dragged. Metal screeched above. Cables hummed, taut. Wind howled past the frame. Anna''s focus snagged on the small sounds beside her—Lia''s quiet, even breaths, a faint rustle of cloth. Steady... small... breath in, breath out. The rhythm a faint counterpoint to the car''s jarring sway, the pulsing fire in her side. Just get there. Just get... up.
A heavy THUD echoed through the frame. The upward pull ceased. The car rocked—a slow, side-to-side sway—then settled against the upper platform. Anna heard the brake lever scrape, then slam shut with a final metallic CLANG. She pushed herself up from the bench, hands braced flat on the rough wood. The movement was slow. A grunt escaped her lips against the tightness in her ribs. Her limbs felt stiff, cold. Miriam stood at the car opening. Anna reached for Miriam''s offered hand, gripping it tight. Miriam pulled. Anna stepped out onto the plateau''s uneven rock surface. She swayed for a moment, boots finding purchase on packed earth mixed with loose shale, her other hand pressing flat against her side.
The air hit different here—colder, thinner. The sharp, resinous scent of plateau scrub filled her nostrils. Wind drove across the flat expanse of weathered rock, stinging her exposed skin. The workshop stood nearby, its shape stark against the gray, swirling sky.
She stopped. Her boots scraped stone. Her body locked rigid. Air caught sharp, painful in her chest. Her gaze lifted slow, the movement pulling at neck muscles, then swept down, pulled across the cliff edge to the patchwork fields spread far below.
Cloudchaser''s wreckage. A jagged, black shape sprawled across the muddy expanse, half-sunk in churned earth. Twisted metal spars jutted up, stark against the dull green-brown field. Torn canvas, gray with soot and mud, fluttered from the broken frame. Thin flapping sounds lost in the wind. Canvas snagged on sharp edges, twisting slow. No blue patch. No green. Gone. His gear-wing... gone. Only black. Rust-brown. The dull, wet sheen of warped metal. A flying machine. Wings snapped. Crushed. Not flying. Never again.
Her breath hitched—a sharp, stabbing gasp. Her uninjured hand flew to her mouth, knuckles pressing white against her lips. The plateau tilted under her feet. She swayed. Her other hand shot out, fingers clawing, digging hard into a rough spire of cold, damp rock beside the path. Cold stone bit into her palm. Her grip held her steady against the tilt. Eyes squeezed shut tight. Pressure built behind lids. Then open again—fixed, wide—on the wreck sprawled below. A low sound tore from her throat, half-groan, half-sob, ragged against the wind. Her whole body trembled, a fine shaking starting in her hands, spreading inward, a vibration through bone. Wind whistled through the jagged spars below, the sound high, thin, scraping raw against her ears. Weak sunlight glinted off twisted brass near the cockpit—a brief orange flicker against the dark ruin. Fire...
Her gaze fixed on the crushed area where the pilot''s seat would have been. A tangle of blackened metal and fused components showed there. Leather cover spilling, tumbling... pages catching flame... soft crinkle... curling to black ash... right there... gone.
Her breath hitched—a sharp, stabbing gasp. Her uninjured hand flew to her mouth, knuckles pressing white against her lips. His words. His handwriting. Burned. The thought landed like a physical blow colder than the wind. The hollow space inside her chest seemed to collapse inward. Tears welled again, hot, blurring the wreckage into a wavering smear of black and gray. The wind carried the faint smell of old smoke and wet ash up from the field. The smell confirmed the image.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A low sound escaped her throat, half-groan, half-sob, torn ragged by the wind. Her whole body began to tremble, a fine shaking starting in her hand.
Soft footsteps scuffed loose shale behind her. A small shape entered her peripheral vision. Lia. White bandages wrapped her splinted hand, resting against patched tunic fabric. She stopped close, beside Anna''s trembling leg. Head barely reached Anna''s hip. Lia looked down at the muddy field, the black sprawl. Anna saw the small face tighten, brow furrow, lips press thin. Dark pupils reflected the gray sky.
A tiny hand tugged at the rough, mud-stained fabric of Anna''s sleeve. The pull felt light, a small snag against the wind''s hard push. "Anna?" Lia''s voice, soft, a hesitant thread almost lost in the wind''s low sigh, the distant roar of waves against rock.
Anna didn''t move. Her body locked rigid, weight pressed hard into the cold, damp spire of rock. Fingers dug, knuckles white. Below, the wreck held her gaze—warped brass fittings gleamed dull under the gray sky, torn canvas snapped in the wind. The wind whistled thin through jagged metal spars, a high, sharp sound scraping against her ears.
A subtle brush of cloth against her leg—Lia shifted beside. Anna''s peripheral vision caught the movement. The child looked around—gray, weathered stone, shivering scrub, the restless sea beyond—then stopped. Her small head tilted. Low between rocks near the cliff edge, a patch of color pulsed—tiny wildflowers, tight clusters of vivid purple and sharp, acid yellow. They clung between stones slick with sea spray, petals shivering constant, frantic in the wind.
A soft crunch on the shale nearby. Anna''s awareness snagged on the sound. Lia''s small shape moved away, towards the cliff edge. A faint rustle, like dry grass crushed underfoot. A soft tearing sound. Footsteps crunched again, closer now. Lia reappeared beside Anna''s leg. Her uninjured hand held a small, tight bunch of wildflowers.
The flowers lifted, entering Anna''s direct line of sight, held near her own hand gripping the rock. A sudden slash of bright color against muted gray-brown stone. Purple bells shivered beside intense yellow blooms. Lia''s voice, quiet against the wind''s sigh: "Look. Pretty."
Anna''s head stayed fixed towards the wreck. But her eyes... dragged sideways. A slow, visible effort. A physical pull from the black ruin below. Bright... sharp color... burns after the gray... Her gaze snagged on the flowers trembling in Lia''s small, grime-streaked fist. Tiny purple bells, petals clenched tight against the wind, nestled against bursts of intense yellow, stamens like gold dust. Dark green stems looked wet, slender. Wind ruffled the petals, blurring them, making them flutter. A faint, sweet scent—sharp grass, crushed blooms—cut through the heavy salt and lingering ash on the air, a prickle high inside Anna''s nose.
The fine tremor running through Anna''s arms lessened. The white pressure of her fingers digging into cold, rough stone eased a fraction. Air pulled into her lungs, deeper this time, a ragged edge scraping her throat. Her eyelids blinked—slow, heavy. Blinked again. The sharp focus on the wreckage diffused, blurred slight at the edges. Vibrant purple, acid yellow held her gaze. She didn''t reach. Didn''t look at Lia''s face. But her head stayed turned towards the small, trembling offering, away from the ruin sprawled across the field.
Anna''s fingers uncurled from the rough rock spire. Her hand fell limp at her side. Scraped knuckles stung faint in the cool wind. She straightened slow, bracing one hand against the rock face nearby. Back muscles pulled tight. The movement was stiff, jerky. Miriam stepped closer, placing a steadying hand on Anna''s uninjured arm. Anna''s gaze lifted from the small splash of wildflowers Lia still held. She looked past the child, towards the plateau path. Her eyes tracked the short distance, skipping over the sparse scrub, the wind-scoured rock. Her gaze landed heavy on the structure perched near the cliff edge—the workshop.
Wood and tin. Dad laughing inside, the sound deep, echoing off steel. Smell of hot metal, welding sparks showering gold. Its shape stood stark against the gray sky. Weathered planks, patched roof glinting dull. Solid. She pushed away from the rock face, taking Miriam''s offered arm again. Took a step towards the workshop, boot scuffing loose shale. Another step followed, slow, unsteady, weight pressing heavy against Miriam''s arm. Each footfall landed deliberate on the shifting ground. Her breath hitched slight, pulling sharp at her bandaged side. Lia walked beside her, small boots almost silent, the cluster of purple and yellow flowers clutched tight, petals fluttering.
They reached the workshop door. Heat-warp twisted the heavy planks near the base. The wood showed darker, scorched, bubbled. Black soot stains feathered up from the threshold stone. Used to toddle right over that, chasing stray bolts... hands sticky with grease. The heavy iron handle—crossed wrench and gear, his mark—showed tarnished, streaked with rust, the metal pitted rough. Hinges groaned soft as the wind pushed, a low sound against the cliff''s silence.
A sharp smell hit Anna—lingering char, metallic, bitter. It clawed at her throat, layering thick over the memory-scent of engine oil, sharp pine sealant, sawdust. Where''s the pine scent? The sealant? Gone. Silence pressed out from the closed door, heavy. A tomb''s quiet.
Anna stopped scant inches from the threshold stone, leaning her weight against the rough wood of the doorframe beside the handle. Stillness settled heavy over her frame. Her gaze fixed on the door ahead: the tarnished handle, the soot stains, the warped wood grain. He''d be inside. Wrench sounds. Humming that off-key tune. Waiting. Her uninjured hand lifted—slow, unsteady, braced against the frame. Muddy, scraped fingers trembled in the air, hovering near the cold iron handle. Cold... not warm from his grip.
"Dad..." The word was a choked whisper, air scraping raw past the lump in her throat. Her breath caught shallow, pulling fire across her bandaged ribs. She stared at the point where wood met metal, eyes tracing the handle''s tarnished outline, the rusted bolts. "I... I tried." The quiet stretched, broken only by wind rattling loose tin on the roof, the deep pulse of waves crashing far below. Lia shifted beside her; wildflower petals rustled faint. A small point of warmth pressed near Anna''s leg. "You said... build, try, fail... build again." Her voice cracked, a raw edge scraping her throat. Heat pricked hot behind her eyes; tears blurred the door''s wood grain. "I failed, Dad. I broke it. Broke her." She swallowed hard, the lump thick, aching. "She was mine... you said... fly it high." Her gaze drifted downward, vision swimming, towards the muddy field, towards the black scar where Cloudchaser lay. "Couldn''t keep her safe. Couldn''t... conquer the sky... Couldn''t stop her burning..."
Her hand remained hovering near the handle, trembling more visibly now. Master the basics... you said. Did I? Trusting him... was that failing? The thought hit like a physical twist, sharp, low in her gut. Her vision blurred further—a shimmer overlaid the scorched wood grain. Small hands flickered into view—stubby fingers smudged black with grease, fumbling with a wrench too large, slipping on a bolt head. A sharp child''s grunt echoed faint, overlaid with the wind''s sigh. Her hands. Her grunt. The ghost-sensation of a large, warm hand closing over hers, guiding the tool. "Steady now, Anna," his voice seemed to murmur, low, steady, a sound half-remembered, half-imagined against the present howl. "Feel the tension? Just enough..." The image wavered—a small girl, hair across her eyes, brow tight with effort, straining under dim workshop light. Eyes wide, fixed on the bolt head. The image fractured, dissolved. Only soot-stained wood remained.
"That smallest rotor... didn''t lift... didn''t lift my heart, Dad," she whispered, the words fraying, thin against the wind. "It just... broke. Like... everything else. Couldn''t... master..." Her hand fell back slow to rest against the doorframe again. Her shoulders slumped slight, tension draining out. A vast, hollow space remained inside her chest. She stood motionless, weight against the frame, staring at the closed door, the scorched wood reflecting the gray sky. Can''t go in. Not ready. Not... like this.
Anna remained before the workshop door, her silhouette taut against the gray sky. The cold iron of the handle stayed untouched. Wind gusted sharp around the corners of the shed, rattling loose tin on the roof with a dry, metallic clatter. It tugged hard at her torn leather jacket, pulling the fabric tight across her bandaged side; fire sparked sharp beneath the cloth. She stood locked, weight pressed against the frame. Below, Cloudchaser''s wreck sprawled across the muddy field, a dark shape under the bruised sky, jagged metal points stark against the churning gray clouds.
Lia stood beside her, small face tilted upward, the wildflowers—purple bells and acid-yellow bursts—clutched tight in her uninjured fist. Petals shivered violent in the wind, some tearing loose, fluttering away like scraps of color. She nudged Anna''s leg again, a small, insistent pressure against the rough fabric. "Anna?" Lia''s voice, quiet, a thin thread nearly ripped away by a gust. "It''s cold out here."
That small touch, the child''s voice cutting through the wind''s howl. Anna''s head turned. Slow. Stiff. Neck muscles pulled tight. Her eyes, shadowed under grit-dusted lashes, focused first on the trembling blooms – the intense yellow, the deep purple shuddering against the gray day – then shifted to Lia''s face. The child''s dark eyes watched, steady, waiting.
"They''re..." Anna started. Her voice rasped, dry. The word caught. She swallowed, the effort pulling painful low in her throat. "...They''re good, Lia." The words came out flat, distant. Her uninjured hand lifted, trembled faint, the movement jerky. Fingers hovered, then brushed hesitant against the petals. Soft. Cool. Real against scraped knuckles.
Footsteps crunched on the path. Heavy. Deliberate. Miriam approached, her shawl pulled tight, ends whipping in the wind. Her face showed lines deep. Her eyes fixed sharp on Anna. She stopped beside Lia. "Anna," Miriam said. Her voice was low, steady, carrying an edge that sliced the wind. "Enough for today."
Anna didn''t look at her mother. Her gaze drifted from the flowers back to the workshop door. The tarnished handle. The soot stains. The quiet pressed out from within. Can''t... Not enough strength...
"Let''s go back down," Miriam urged, voice softening a fraction. She reached out. Her hand settled firm, careful, on Anna''s uninjured shoulder. Warmth seeped through the torn cloth. A grounding weight against the cold emptiness churning inside. "Come home, Anna. It''s warm inside."
Anna stood another long moment. The closed door—a wall. Wind howled, raw, off the cliff edge, carrying sharp salt spray that misted cold against her face. Below, the wreck remained, a constant throb in her vision. Lia''s small form pressed quiet against her leg. Miriam''s hand held steady on her shoulder. Slowly, pulling gaze away from the workshop door felt like tearing frozen metal apart. She looked down at Lia. Saw the faint smudge of dirt on the child''s cheek. Met her mother''s waiting eyes. A faint tremor ran through her frame. A single, stiff nod. Surrender.
Miriam''s hand guided Anna''s shoulder, turning her away from the workshop. Back towards the path. Anna leaned heavy into her mother''s support. Each step forward was slow, her boot dragging through loose shale. Fire pulsed sharp beneath her ribs with every shift of weight. She kept moving, one foot scraping, catching, moving after the other. Lia walked close on her other side, wildflowers clutched tight, their bright purple and yellow stark against the gray, windswept plateau. They moved towards the cable car station. The workshop door remained unopened, its silence undisturbed behind them.
Anna''s gaze stayed fixed on the warped wood of the door. Heat blisters marked the planks near the threshold. Wood grain blurred faint under her stare. No laugh sounded from inside. No pine scent cut the air. Only char, cold stone.
Lia lifted the flowers higher. They brushed Anna''s scraped knuckles. Cool, damp petals grazed skin. A faint, sweet scent – crushed grass, sharp blooms – cut through the metallic tang of char and the salt on the air. Lia''s voice, quiet: "You don''t want them?"
That small touch against her skin, the sharp sweet scent cutting the air—Anna''s head turned. The rotation slow, stiff. Muscles pulled tight, painful, in her neck. Her eyes, shadowed under grit-dusted lashes, focused first on the trembling blooms – intense yellow, deep purple, shivering against the gray backdrop – then shifted to Lia''s face. The child''s dark eyes showed quiet, steady, reflecting the swirling gray sky.
"They''re..." Anna started. Air rasped dry in her throat. The word caught. She swallowed, the effort pulling sharp at bruised muscles low in her neck. "...They''re good, Lia." The words scraped out, breath thin, barely audible above the wind''s low sigh. Her uninjured hand lifted, trembled slight, the movement jerky. Fingers hovered near the petals, then brushed light against them. Soft. Cold. Real against scraped skin.
Footsteps crunched heavy on the path behind her, a steady rhythm. Miriam stopped beside Lia. Her shawl pulled tight, edges fluttering. Her face showed lines deep; her eyes fixed sharp on Anna. "Anna," Miriam said, her voice low, steady. "Enough for today."
Anna didn''t look directly at her mother. Her gaze slid from the flowers back to the workshop door. The tarnished handle. The soot stains. Silence pressed heavy from within. Her muscles felt loose, heavy. Could not lift hand to handle.
"Let''s go back down," Miriam said, her voice lower now. She reached out. Her hand settled firm, careful, on Anna''s uninjured shoulder. Warmth seeped through the torn cloth. Cold air pressed elsewhere on Anna''s skin. "Come home, Anna. It''s warm inside."
Anna stood motionless another long moment. The closed door ahead. Miriam''s hand steady on her shoulder. Wind howled again around the cliff edge; salt spray misted sharp, cold against her face, stinging her eyes. Below, the wreck remained, a constant black shape against the fields. Lia''s small hand rested light against her leg. Miriam''s grip held firm on her shoulder.
Slowly. Her gaze slid away from the workshop door. She looked down at Lia. Saw the faint smudge of dirt on the child''s cheek, her dark eyes fixed. Then she met her mother''s gaze. Their eyes met for a long moment. Anna gave a single, stiff nod.
Miriam''s hand guided her, turning her away from the workshop, back towards the path leading down to the cable car. Anna leaned heavy into her mother''s support, each step slow, dragging through loose shale. Sharp, pulsing fire flared in her injured side with every shift of weight, but she kept moving, one foot scraping after the other. Lia walked close on her other side, the wildflowers clutched tight, their bright colors stark against the gray, windswept plateau.
As they reached the top of the path, Anna didn''t look back. The workshop door remained shut, its scorched wood dark against the restless sky. Below, unseen now, a distinct weight pressed inside her chest.