IVY'S POV
"That cup?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it, softer than I intended, but it lingered anyway. Something about it felt wrong. Not just the cup, not just the image still clinging to the edges of my mind, but her. The way she moved when it fell felt too precise, too controlled, like she wasn't reacting to an accident but trying to fix one before it could be seen.
My eyes stayed on her as she crouched to gather the broken pieces, but my focus wasn't on the glass. It was on her hands. They were shaking.
That didn't make sense.
Seraphina didn't shake.
The thought pressed at me, trying to take shape, trying to become something more, but I pushed it away before it could fully form. I didn't have the strength to follow threads that might unravel something I wasn't ready to face. Maybe she was just tired.
We both were.
I let out a slow breath, my chest tightening faintly as exhaustion settled deeper into my bones. No, this wasn't what mattered. Not right now.
