~Aria's POV~
The library was too cold. The air felt thin and clinical, like everything else in the high-tech prison Lucien called a home. I stood against the mahogany shelves, my fingers tightening around the small wooden box. Inside, the silver compasses clinked. The sound was soft, but in the dead silence, it sounded like a warning.
I turned the bent compass over and I felt the tiny, jagged engraving on the back.
J & A.
The letters were old and faded. A was for Aria. That was me. But the J was like a hole in my life. My mind searched for a name, a face, or a voice...
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