Vivian's POV
Sienna shows up at my door that night instead of calling, which already tells me everything I need to know before she says a word. Her mascara has traveled halfway down her cheeks in twin dark lines, her coat is still buttoned to the throat like she forgot she was wearing it, and she carries herself with the specific, brittle fury of someone who has spent the last forty-eight hours holding it together for an audience and can finally, finally fall apart now that the audience is just me. Her hands tremble as she brushes past me into the hallway of my apartment, and I catch the scent of rain clinging to the wool of her coat, sharp and cold, like she walked the entire way here without once thinking to call a car.
"He didn't even deny it." She doesn't wait for me to get the door
