le the city's noise, but inside, a different kind of sound prevailed:

dress. She had come to say a final goodbye to Eleanor Vance, and to make

ipple of renewed, more pointed murmurs. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned toward her, sharp and hostile as a thousand tiny needles. T

ilies, was Armond. His voice, amplified by a microphone, filled the sacre

d his expression didn't flicker. It was as if he had been expecting her

venom. "Eleanor's kindness, her unwavering trust," he said, his eyes still lock

r. Then came the first flash of a camera, then

e barricades, their lenses aimed through the open doors. This wasn't just a funeral. It

e was going to destroy her repu

, and the crowd parted for him like the Red Sea before Moses. H

ines of strain around his cold eyes. He leaned in, his voice a low, me

refusing to let the tremor in her hands travel to her words. "

ed his lips. It was quiet, but i

, everyone," he announced, his tone dripping with righteous fury. "The woman who took

t through the crowd. A

urged forward. Eleanor's mother. Before Athen

ars. A searing, white-hot pain exploded on her cheek. Her head snapp

instant, watching him stand by, his face a mask of cold satisfaction, the last fragile ember of

ushers. Microphones and cameras were shoved in

, why did y

t jeal

ou pus

scent of lilies and old incense was thick in the air, making her stomach churn. The world

kle, the great cathedral doors

NYPD officers

the mourners went silent. Every eye was on the tw

f Athena. One of them h

loud and official, "you are under arrest in

, violent explosion of light capturing the precise moment

over the heads of the stu

mo

venge. He was watching the final act of a play he had written

he public humiliation. The police. It was all hi

lower, plummeted into an abyss of absolute des

The guests shrank away from her as she

e didn't weep. She simply turned her head and looked