Seraphina's Point Of View
I coughed awkwardly, clearing my throat twice to buy a few extra seconds as heat rose steadily up my neck. My hands felt clammy, and I pressed them flat against my thighs, trying to steady myself before I even attempted to speak. The words I needed to say sat heavy in my chest, refusing to come easily.
Rose didn't move an inch. She leaned forward from her chair until her knees nearly touched mine, her eyes fixed on me in silent, unblinking suspicion, as though she could pry the truth loose simply by staring hard enough.
I could feel the weight of her gaze pressing into me, patient and unyielding, the way it always did when she knew I was hiding something. She had known me for eight years, long enough to read every twitch and hesitation, and there was no use pretending otherwise.
"Seraphina." Rose's voice dropped into a slow, quiet register, the kind she used only when she meant business. "What did you do after you left that apartment?"
