#Chapter 150 My Father

Emily The steam from the cup curls in soft spirals above my hands. It smells like moss and mint, with something else layered beneath—something deeper, bitter, and wild. I stare into the surface of the green tea as if it holds all the answers I’ve been chasing. I know it doesn’t. But I drink anyway. The warmth coats my throat as I sip, sliding into my chest with a soft burn. Wanda sits across from me, still and quiet, like a statue carved from old wood and shadow. Her eyes don’t blink. They never do when she’s preparing for something like this. The ritual hums around her even before she speaks. “Drink all of it,” she says. “Let it fill you.” I obey, swallowing the last mouthful. It leaves an earthy aftertaste on my tongue. My lips tingle. The edges of the room begin to blur slightly, as if I’ve just stepped between two worlds and haven’t quite landed in either. Wanda rises and moves to the couch. I follow her, legs already a little heavy, like I’m underwater. I lay down, sinki