Elara's scent was cool, like a frost-nipped mountain, but to me, it felt only like home.
I was drifting, my head lolling against the sofa cushions, when I suddenly jolted awake.
The syringes. I had forgotten to get rid of them.
The sleepiness vanished instantly. I stood, my mind suddenly clear, sharpened by a new purpose. I remembered watching Elara tuck the box onto a high kitchen shelf before I left for the rented room.
I began opening the sleek cabinets one by one until I found it. A clinical white box tucked into the shadowed top shelf.
Elara could reach it with a lazy stretch of her arm, but even on my tiptoes, I was inches short. I dragged a chair across the tile and climbed up, fingers finally curling around the cold cardboard.
Standing there with the box in my hands, I hesitated.
Where would I even hide it? My gaze dropped to the label.
Did I really need to hide them? Why not just tell her? What if she turned me down?
