The question struck William like a gunshot in the stillness — short, sharp, impossible to ignore.
He froze where he stood, every muscle locking. For a heartbeat, he wasn't even sure he'd heard her right.
How could she ask that?
Milagros tilted her head slightly to one side, watching him with eyes the color of winter ice beneath the moon — pale, endless, cold. Her lips parted just enough to suggest amusement, as if she could taste the confusion radiating from him.
"I... I don't know," William stammered, voice barely more than a whisper, his gaze fixed anywhere but her face.
"Liar," she breathed.
It wasn't loud, but the word cut clean — a scalpel laid across his nerves.
He lowered his head, but it did nothing to escape her. Her stare felt physical, invasive — a hand without flesh reaching straight into him. His skin burned at the back of his neck; the air seemed charged, alive with something electric and cruel.
