Hazel yanked the flowing gown over her head and tossed it onto the bed without care. In one swift motion, she slipped into a black tank top and fitted shorts, the kind of outfit made for reckless nights and hidden adventures. She dragged a comb through her dark hair before tying it into a messy ponytail.
Across the room, Fiona sat frozen on the edge of the bed, watching her with narrowed eyes.
"Why are you dressing like that?" Fiona finally asked, suspicion dripping from her voice.
A sly smile curled across Hazel's lips as she rummaged through Fiona's bag.
"Go on," she said casually. "Change into something comfortable. Hopefully you packed shorts."
Fiona blinked. "Hazel, what exactly is going on?" She stood slowly. "You need to explain why I'm suddenly changing clothes in the middle of the night."
Hazel tapped her foot impatiently against the tiled floor.
"Just trust me and wear it."
Fiona crossed her arms. "Please tell me this has nothing to do with Manson."
