How the hell was I supposed to explain this to her?
Sabrina could handle most things. She was built for crisis in a way I'd always privately admired and never once told her. But this — I glanced at the mirror and the wrong face looked back — this was a different category of crisis entirely. The thought of her walking through that door and seeing me like this sent a fresh wave of something cold through my chest.
What if she didn't believe me?
What if she thought I'd lost my mind?
What if I had?
The knock made me jump.
I scrambled to the door, then stopped with my hand on the handle. Twitch had knocked too. I pressed my eye to the peephole.
Sabrina. Arms crossed, foot tapping, expression reading somewhere between I cannot believe I got out of bed for this and you have thirty seconds t
