The next morning felt lighter somehow.
Like the air had shifted overnight and decided to stop choking everyone for a while.
Amara stood in front of her mirror, trying to tame her hair into something less chaotic, humming softly even though she didn’t know what she was humming. Maybe it was relief—maybe it was that talk with Leo last night. It hadn’t fixed everything, but it had settled something deep in her chest.
She could still feel the warmth of his chest, the way he’d held her and whispered, “Don’t cry, please don’t.” Those words had stuck like glue.
Downstairs, Becky was already at the table with a mug of coffee and her usual morning sarcasm.
“You look suspiciously happy,” Beck said, squinting. “Either you finally slept or you’re hiding a dead body somewhere.”
Amara rolled her e
