the sea of puzzled young faces, each child a mirror reflecting back her rising anxiety as she struggled for the right words. Her pulse quickened as her gaze met Ishmael’s—the young boy, who was well-known for reporting others.

"Ishmael, yakiri, please, let me to explain," she implored, her voice strained as she attempted to project calm, though the thin ice beneath her feet was fracturing.

Ezra’s already tumultuous thoughts were further disturbed by the discordant sounds emanating from the bird nestled against her shoulder. Its loud snores and abrupt, piercing whistles seemed to mock the gravity of her predicament with its blissful ignorance. Yet, her voice was soft. "You should sleep elsewhere, little girl," Ezra whispered, tenderly stroking the small bird's head.

Unfamil...

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