Millie’s response was almost instinctive.

“Didn’t you summon me?”

“When did I…?”

Marcus’ voice trailed off, urgency replacing confusion. He lunged, his hands seizing the porcelain fragments from Millie’s grasp.

“Millie, you’ve shattered the precious porcelain!”

His voice had a winter chill.

Millie’s heart stopped.

she echoed, her mind

Which porcelain?

seconds of suspended time—for Millie to regain herself, shaking her

it. You’ve misunderstood.” Her voice was a plea, a truth

knew full well the fury simmering in Marcus’ eyes. She raced

then who is? Why would these shards

clamored in her head, threatening to

Mae’s hurried summons played back, and a realization washed

holds more than just age within its delicate form. It bears the fingerprints of my great grandfather’s legacy. It’s a treasure not for its years, but for the stories it carries.

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