Shadows of the Rehab Family

The sterile, overly perfumed air of the Rehab family’s opulent drawing-room did little to mask the acrid scent of desperation clinging to its occupants. Grandmother Rehab, a woman whose age seemed to have etched itself into the very bones of her face, sat perched on an antique velvet armchair, her fingers, adorned with rings that whispered of stolen fortunes, drumming a nervous rhythm on its arm. Her eyes, sharp and unforgiving as shards of obsidian, were fixed on the hushed figures before her.

“Gone?” Her voice, a dry rustle of autumn leaves, crackled with disbelief and a simmering rage. “How could she be *gone*?”

Miya Rehab, her own face pale and drawn, stood rigidly, her gaze averted. Beside her, Heron Rehab, his usual calm demeanor strained, shifted his weight, his jaw tight. They were the keepers of the news, the messengers of Kiara’s escape, and the weight of Grandmother Rehab’s displeasure pressed down on them like a physical force.