Zina's POV
The house was too quiet. It was the kind of silence that didn't soothe, that settled into the cracks of your mind and festered. Asher had gone to his room, Jared close on his heels, ensuring he wasn't left alone with his thoughts. I was grateful for that—Jared had a way of reaching Asher that even I couldn't replicate.
But now, as I stood in the living room, the emptiness of the space felt suffocating. The echo of Xaden's slap reverberated in my mind, a constant reminder of my failure to shield Asher from his father's anger. I had thought I was prepared for anything, but that single act had shattered my illusions.
I walked to the kitchen, needing something to keep my hands busy. The kettle hissed softly as I set it on the stove, the sound grounding me in the present. My fingers trembled as I reached for the tea canister, spilling loose leaves across the counter.
"Zina."
