ALVA
Marcel hasn't called back. It's been three days since I threatened him, three days since I told him to give me whatever my late mother left in his care or risk me prying it out of him in a manner he wouldn't like.
His silence eats at me. I console myself with the thought of him pacing in his home, gnawing on his knuckles as guilt claws through him after my threat. Maybe he's run away. Maybe he's done what cowards like him do best; flee to his hometown, hiding behind nostalgia and the safety of old ghosts.
Still, his sudden departure from Danvarr and leaving his niece behind can only mean one thing; he definitely has something of Camille's he's gone to retrieve or protect.
The thought of it makes warmth bloom in my chest. Camille Branson. Even her name feels foreign on my tongue because of how much of a taboo it was to speak it while growing up.
