Shirley
The silence between us thickened until I couldn’t stand it anymore. Cassandra’s gaze hadn’t shifted from me, her amber eyes unreadable in the lantern light. She looked like she was holding something back, something dangerous, and my gut twisted.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked, my voice low, wary.
Her lips pressed into a tight line. For a heartbeat, I thought she might shut me out entirely, the way everyone else seemed to do when things got ugly. But Cassandra wasn’t like them—she had a bluntness, an edge carved from surviving on her own. And right now, she looked like she was wrestling with whether to give me the truth or let me drown in half-answers.
Finally, she exhaled, sharp and shaky. “You want to know about that mark on your neck? About why it burns like it does?
