Amara's POV.

The old stone house was a world away from the chaos I had just escaped. The scent of woodsmoke and freshly baked bread filled the air, a familiar warmth that wrapped around me like a hug. It was the kind of peace I hadn't realized I was starving for.

My grandmother, a small, frail woman with eyes as kind as they were wise, led us inside. The dinner table was already set, a simple, comforting spread of fish stew, hot pounded yam, and fresh vegetables from her garden. The sight of ...