My skin is prickling, my senses are on high alert, and my body feels far too restless for the clothes I have forced onto it.
The jeans are tolerable.
Just.
The shirt is a hard pass. It is too tight across my shoulders and back, the sleeves pull when I move, and the collar feels like a personal insult.
And, unfortunately, the sun is out.
Which means the car is going to be warm.
This is already a terrible idea, and we have only just left the main doors.
To anyone watching us walk out of Exton together, Lyra in a navy dress and wedges, me in jeans and a white shirt, it probably looks like we are heading out on a date.
Could actually happen if you don't mess things up, Calix mutters.
I ignore him.
Mostly because his words do something wholly unhelpful.
They plant a seed of hope insi
