Amy Stone
I cross my arms, refusing to bow down. “I won’t apologize, Kael. Not to her.”
His eyes flicker with frustration, the faintest crease forming between his brows. He doesn’t raise his voice—he never does when he’s truly upset—but the weight of his silence presses harder than a thousand shouted words.
“I’m giving you a few hours to think about it,” he says finally, his tone clipped.
I laugh bitterly. “You can give me a few hours, or a few years. My answer will be the same. I did nothing wrong.”
For a fleeting second, his gaze softens—so quick I almost miss it. Deep down, I know he believes me. He just won’t say it aloud. Not yet.
Before either of us can continue, a sharp scream slices through the air. It’s coming from downstairs.
Kael’s head snaps up. We both rush toward the
