Nevara
Michelle’s hand dropped from the door handle like it burned. Her gaze flicked toward Thoren, then me, then Kael—reading us like a wolf reading the wind before a storm.
“Well,” she said softly. “Looks like I don’t have a choice anymore.”
She turned slowly, shoulders squaring, and faced us all like a soldier about to step onto a battlefield. Her expression cracked—guilt, nerves, something else.
Then she looked at Thoren. And the moment she did, her voice wavered.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Thoren, I am so sorry. I’m about to ruin everything.”
Thoren’s brows pulled tight. “Michelle… what the hell are you talking about?”
Kael’s eyes narrowed. “You should be sorry, but for what?”
I didn’t say anything. My jaw was locked, hands clenched at my sides, heart ready to detonate.
Mic
