Damian was waiting when she came back inside, arms crossed, his expression carved from stone.
“What did he tell you,” he asked, quiet and clipped.
Amara’s fingers tightened around the locket in her pocket. Rhea stood a few feet behind him, arms folded, watching Amara like she was waiting for her to slip.
“Nothing important,” Amara said.
The lie left her mouth before she’d decided to tell it, and she hated herself for it instantly.
Damian’s jaw tightened. He didn’t call her on it, which somehow felt worse than if he had.
“You can’t trust him,” Rhea said flatly. “Either of them. They show up out of nowhere with matching tokens and convenient timing, and you’re just supposed to take their word for it?”
“He’s from my past,” Amara snapped. “Not everything has to be a conspiracy.”
“Every
