Sheila didn’t realize how tightly she had been holding her breath until the cold evening air hit her lungs outside the arena.
The glass doors slid shut behind her with a soft mechanical click, but the tension inside her chest followed her out like an unwanted shadow. She walked toward the parking lot, her heels tapping against the pavement in quick, sharp rhythms that matched the restless beat of her heart.
She hated how unsettled she felt.
Not because of Carter.
Not even because of the message.
It was Atticus.
The way his voice had dropped when he told her to step back. The way his eyes had looked at her like he was fighting something far bigger than irritation. The way he had almost touched her hand and then pulled away like it would burn him.
She shook her head, unlocking her car
