The elevator ride up to Selena's penthouse was thick with silence. Amanda stood to Selena's right, her tote bag pressed to her side, her gaze flicking between the illuminated floor numbers and Selena's pale face. She didn't speak. She wanted to, but instinct told her that silence was better. Selena's shoulders trembled faintly, her hands clasped tight in front of her chest as if holding herself together. Her knuckles were white, nails pressing into her own skin.
The air between them was so fragile that Amanda feared even a whisper might shatter it. She had tried, downstairs, to place a comforting hand on Selena's shoulder, but Selena had flinched. That small recoil had been louder than any words.
The soft chime announced their floor. The doors slid open.
