KASMINE.
Something was off.
June sat at the kitchen table, absentmindedly stirring the coffee in her cup, the spoon clinking against the ceramic in a slow, repetitive rhythm.
She wasn't drinking it.
She was just staring into the dark liquid, lost in her own thoughts.
"What's wrong?" I asked, leaning against the counter. "You don't look happy."
She sighed—deep, heavy—before lifting the cup to her lips and taking a small sip. Then, slowly, she turned to face me.
"Kasmine..." She paused, looking at me.
Something about how she looked at me made my stomach twist, and my palms feel suddenly too warm.
For a fleeting second, the worst possible thought crossed my mind.
Does she know what I and Kester did last night?
I swallowed, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral. "Yes?"
She h
