Velora didn't go back to her room that night.
She stayed in the study long after her mother left.
Selective memory suppression.
The words echoed in her head like something unreal.
Not an accident. Not trauma. Not confusion.
A choice.
Made for her.
Without her.
The next morning, her mother behaved normally.
Breakfast was quiet. Controlled. Routine.
But her father—
Her father looked like he hadn't slept.
Dark circles. Tension in his shoulders. Avoiding eye contact.
Velora watched him carefully.
He wasn't calculating like her mother.
He was unsettled.
That was a difference.
After breakfast, her mother left for an "errand."
Velora waited until the front door shut.
Then she walked into the living room.
Her father was sitting there, staring at nothing.
"Did you agree to it?"
He flinched.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
"To what?" he asked.
"You know what."
Silence filled the space between them.
He rubbed his face slowly.
"You were screaming," he muttered.
Her heart skipped.
"Screaming what?"
He looked up at her.
And for the first time—
There was guilt in his eyes.
"His name."
The air felt thinner.
"You remember that?" she whispered.
"I remember you holding him," he said quietly. "Covered in blood."
Her breathing became uneven.
"You saw him?"
"Yes."
Her mind spun.
"You told me I was unconscious."
"I lied."
The word dropped heavily.
"Why?" she demanded.
He stood up suddenly, pacing.
"Because you were losing your mind!" he snapped. "You wouldn't let them take him. You kept saying it was your fault. You kept saying you stepped in front—"
He stopped himself.
Too late.
"You knew," she said softly.
He closed his eyes.
"Yes."
Silence.
Then—
"Who called the police?"
He froze.
Completely still.
"I didn't," he said.
Her chest tightened.
"You didn't."
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Too firm.
"So who did?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he looked toward the hallway.
Instinctively.
Like someone might hear.
"Some things were necessary," he said finally.
"That's not what I asked."
His voice dropped lower.
"You think your mother is weak?" he said.
The question caught her off guard.
"What?"
"You think she panics? Makes mistakes?"
A chill ran down her spine.
He stepped closer.
"Your mother never makes mistakes."
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
"So she called them."
It wasn't a question anymore.
His silence was confirmation.
"She said they complicated things," Velora whispered.
He gave a bitter laugh.
"They destroyed everything."
Destroyed.
Not saved.
Destroyed.
"You didn't want them there," she realized.
"No," he said. "Because if they hadn't come—"
He stopped again.
"If they hadn't come what?"
His jaw tightened.
"He might have lived."
The world tilted.
"What?"
He looked at her with something close to regret.
"The bullet didn't kill him immediately," he said quietly. "He was still breathing."
Her heart shattered in her chest.
"And the police?" she whispered.
"They forced protocol. Secured the scene. Delayed the ambulance."
Her legs felt weak.
"They delayed help."
"Yes."
Tears burned her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.
"So she called them knowing that?"
He didn't answer directly.
"She believed it was the only way to protect you."
Protect.
Always protect.
"At the cost of him," Velora said.
Her father didn't deny it.
Footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Both of them turned.
Her mother stood there.
Listening.
Her expression was calm.
Almost thoughtful.
"You shouldn't fill her head with half-truths," she said softly.
Her father stiffened.
"You're the one who—"
She cut him off with a single look.
And he went silent.
Instantly.
Velora noticed.
That power dynamic.
Her mother walked forward slowly.
"He was dying either way," she said gently.
"You don't know that," her father muttered.
Her mother's gaze sharpened slightly.
"I made the decision that ensured our daughter survived."
Our daughter.
Velora's stomach twisted.
"And erased my memory," Velora said.
Her mother's eyes softened.
"You were begging to die with him," she said quietly. "You were hysterical."
The word again.
Hysterical.
"You would have destroyed yourself with guilt."
"So you destroyed my truth instead."
Silence.
Her mother stepped closer.
Lowered her voice.
"If you remember everything… you will hate us."
Velora's heart hardened.
"Maybe I already do."
For the first time—
Her mother's composure cracked.
Just slightly.
And in that crack—
Velora saw something terrifying.
Not regret.
Not guilt.
Fear.
But not fear of Velora remembering.
Fear of what remembering would lead her to discover.
Her mother straightened.
"You're not strong enough yet," she said calmly.
"For what?" Velora demanded.
But her mother only smiled faintly.
"You'll see."
She turned and walked away.
Her father didn't follow.
He just stood there.
Broken.
And that was when Velora realized something clearly:
Her father made mistakes.
Her mother made decisions.
And somewhere between mistake and decision—
Riven Ash died.