The stained glass windows in the common area are reflecting colors across Amara’s notebook, turning her notes several shades of red, green, and orange. Her pen scratches across the yellowing paper, and Amara relishes in the sound. If Light were here, they’d love the colors, probably. Her heart sinks as she’s once again reminded of her fallen lover, but she doesn’t let it bother her. There’s another person sitting at the same table who happens to have the book that Amara needs to finish up her studying. “Excuse me,” she calls softly, her voice surprisingly hesitant for someone who killed without a second thought. “Could I borrow that when you’re done?”











