RIta's Point Of View
"Hey, Rita."
That voice struck like a bucket of ice water dumped down my spine. My fingers froze against the cold leather of the car seat. I stopped mid-motion, my foot hovering just an inch above the concrete garage floor. The pleasant warmth from breakfast with Charles… the easy laughter, his gentle teasing dissolved in an instant. Slowly, very slowly, I withdrew from the car door, my pulse already quickening with dread.
I turned to face the speaker. The moment my eyes locked onto her face, every ounce of warmth that had been bubbling in my chest evaporated. My expression hardened into something I knew she would recognize: the same cold mask I'd perfected during our last encounter.
Clara. Of all the people in this godforsaken city, it had to be her.
