Norman POV
Why can't we admit her? She's in bad shape? Maximus snapped, frustration thick in his voice as he paced beside the car.
His boots splashed through puddles, his hands raking through his damp hair as he tried to stay calm.
The backseat door was open, and Yuna lay there, battered and barely conscious. The sight of her would have shaken anyone. She looked fragile.
Hurt, broken. Max.
The miss wasn't yelling at me, but I felt the weight of his words. Anyway, I looked at her again, trying to understand what he was feeling.
But deep down, I didn't feel what he did, not really. I wasn't heartless. I just didn't feel the way I should have.
I knew I was supposed to feel bad. And so I tried. I mirrored the concern. I told myself this was tragic.
But it didn't hit me the way it hit
