AMARA
My chest tightened, each breath becoming a struggle as panic clawed at my lungs. I couldn’t inhale properly, couldn’t think straight.
“Amara?” He reached for my hand, fingers brushing against mine, but I jerked away instinctively.
“Breathe,” he urged.
“I am breathing,” I hissed. My throat burned, and my heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Desperate to regain control, I latched onto something—anything—to shift the conversation. “Why are you so interested in my friend’s daughter?”
A slow, knowing chuckle rumbled from his chest, making my stomach twist. “That’s a lot of words, don’t you think? A bit much for someone simply answering a question.”
Think, Amara. Think!
“She’s six. Turning seven soon,” I blurted out before I could second-guess myself.
It was a lie—o
