Roman didn’t come back until dinner. He said nothing, just ate in silence. Jas tried to ask him about his walk, but he shrugged them off.
Later that evening, Ivy Mae pulled out an old box of letters and photos. She spread them across the table, her movements slow and deliberate. “These are my memories,” she said softly, “the things that remind me who I am, where I come from.”
Jas leaned closer, picking up a faded photo of a young girl holding a book. The words The Alchemy of Transformation were barely visible on the spine.
“That’s me,” Ivy Mae said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “At the foundry. My mom gave me that book. Said it was about finding light in dark times.”
Jas traced the edges of the photo, a strange sense of hope stirring.