Odette's POV
The moment I heard that shrieking voice downstairs, I swear my soul left my body, walked to a corner, and sat with folded arms like, "Girl, what now?"
It was loud, sharp, familiar in the worst way possible.
And it was saying:
"What do you mean? Evander would NEVER say that! Do you know who I am?"
Yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah.
I knew that voice.
I knew that voice like I knew the shape of my past cane, the sound of my father's laughter, and the way a storm sounded rolling over rooftops.
The woman from the warehouse.
The one who called me "that human" with the same tone people use when they step in something disgusting.
My stomach dropped so hard it felt like gravity doubled.
Mara tugged my arm gently, probably sensing my face had frozen. "Madam… should we continue?"
"No," I whispered, my fingers tightening on her wrist. "Wait."
Because I needed to listen.
Needed to place every step, every breath, every tone.
Being blind means you don't get the luxury of body language.
