Moana’s POV

The drums had barely faded from our wedding when life shattered.

I had gone to sleep with flowers still in my hair, my hand resting in Tomas’s, the sound of the sea rocking me toward dreams. But dreams turned to screams.

It began with smoke, thick and acrid, choking my throat. Then shouts, harsh, guttural voices I didn’t know, cutting through the night like knives.

I sat up, heart racing. “Tomas, what’s happening?”

Before he could answer, the door of our hut burst open. ...