The initial shock of Dakota's departure rippled through the great hall like a stone thrown into still water, but as the minutes passed without further drama, the guests gradually settled back into the celebration.
People whispered among themselves about the younger Winters sister's fragile state, about how overwhelming crowds must be for someone still recovering from traumatic memory loss, about how understandable it was that she had needed air.
Maya stood beside Ethan at the front of the hall, her smile fixed even though her eyes kept drifting toward the doors Dakota had disappeared through twenty minutes ago.
She told herself her sister just needed space, needed time to process whatever had triggered that pale, devastated expression before she'd excused herself.
"She probably went home to rest," one of Maya's aunts said kindly, patting her arm. "The poor dear looked exhausted. All these people must have been too much."
