DAPHNE
Something passes between them—fast, wordless, the particular shorthand of two people who have known each other their whole lives and have run out of room to argue. Not agreement. More like a mutual acknowledgment that this has a hard limit and they've reached it.
Krue's grip settles at my waist. Arden moves to my other side, arm coming under mine, hand finding my ribs—careful, the way he always is when it counts, even when nothing else about him looks careful.
We start moving.
It's not graceful. Krue is slightly taller, and neither of them will adjust for it, which means I'm listing faintly left. Every time Arden shifts his grip, Krue compensates. Every time Krue compensates, Arden shifts again.
"You're overcorrecting," Arden says.
"Your arm is too low."
"My arm is exactly wh
