Early in the morning, right as the sun is coming up, a slim, pretty girl with light-brown hair and a smattering of freckles comes into Riona’s room. I’ve never met her before, but I know immediately this is Riona’s little sister Nessa. The way she moves and stands gives her away as a dancer. Plus, she’s carrying a huge bouquet of peonies which I know are Riona’s favorite. “Oh!” Nessa cries, her green eyes filling with tears at the sight of the bruise on Riona’s cheek. “Dad said she wasn’t hurt . . . ” “She’s okay,” I tell her. “Just sleeping.”
