CIARA'S POV

We walked to the receiving chamber, my heart beating faster with each step. I kept picturing Sarah's face—not as I'd last seen her, clueless and soft on that final night, but as she'd been in our academy days: bright-eyed and fierce.

The doors swung open, and there she was.

Sarah Morgan stood beside her mother, hair neatly pulled back into a perfect braid. She wore a simple dress, dark blue and modest, nothing like the bold colors she'd favored in my memories. Her posture was ...