"Sis?" Mira's silken voice chimed in from beside Lara, falsely sweet, pulling Lara from her reverie.
"Sister, don't you know who this is? You seemed in a daze and had not heard my introduction earlier." Mira stood beside the young man. "This is my friend Malcolm Cardil—the youngest son of Lord Julian Cardil. Surely you've heard of him?" she continued in a calculated voice that deepened the discomfort hanging in the air.
"Have you forgotten that I lost my memory?" Lara snapped, her voice tinged with frustration. "I can't even conjure up a single face of Amelia, let alone remember all the other people I never had the chance to meet." Her words hung in the air, heavy with impatience.
Lara's rebuttal left Mira speechless. She wanted to emphasize that Malcolm, her friend, was the son of the Lord of the Zen Warriors—the finest martial arts school in all of Northem, but the words were stuck in her throat.