-Sloane Pierce:
It had been a week since that night, and in those seven days I had gone to Roxy's house every single day without fail.
It had become routine now, as if I belonged there, as if the mansion itself expected me to show up at its tall gates and be escorted inside by her maids.
Each morning her chauffeur pulled up in front of my apartment, the sleek black car always waiting for me before I was even ready, and he carried me across the city to the house that no longer felt foreign, though it never stopped feeling intimidating.
Her leg was already healing quickly. I could see it in the way she moved, the way she no longer winced quite as sharply when she shifted her weight, the way the crutches seemed more like an accessory now rather than a lifeline.
She would be walking normally in no time, I could tell. There was strength in her body that seemed to fight against weakness with a kind of pride, refusing to let it settle. But still—something about her was different.
