I spot Astra inside a small bookstore, and I watch her through the window. She’s holding what appears to be a gardening book and reading with complete absorption, her fingers tracing something on the page.

I stay outside, observing her fascination with the book. Through the bond, I feel her pure contentment—the first genuine happiness I’ve sensed from her in days.

The elderly shopkeeper approaches her, spectacles perched on his nose, and everything changes.

“That’s an excellent choice, miss,” he says. “Very comprehensive guide to medicinal horticulture. Would you like to purchase it?”

Through the bond, I feel her emotions shift violently—from contentment to panic. Her face flushes red as...