Emily had felt the storm gathering.
Somewhere in the last sixty seconds — between Cassiopeia's first careful, measured word and the small, horrified silence that had now settled like frost across the long pale sofa — Emily's finely tuned instinct for whose room she was currently standing in had finally caught up with the rest of her. She quietly stopped scrolling her thumb hovered mid-swipe while her face shifted into a realization, with the slow, sinking horror that she was sitting in something she was not supposed to be hearing.
She did not leave and simply stilled; listened.
Cassiopeia, watching the small white tremor and rage of Melissa's knuckles tightening on the trousers, drew a slow, steadying breath.
She was already in; she might as well finish what she had started.
"There were also things I did which I am not proud of anymore"
Melissa did not turn.
"My privileges, I mean. As a Maxton. With him."
The pause in her made Melissa more drift in more rage.
