The room feels colder than it should.
Not temperature-wise. Emotionally. Like everyone walked in already knowing the script except me.
Ethan’s mother notices me first. She always does. Sharp eyes. Perfect posture. Hair untouched by wind or stress or life.
“Solene,” she says warmly. Not warmly. Politely. There’s a difference. “You’re here.”
I smile. The kind I’ve practiced. “Of course.”
Her gaze flicks behind me. Then back. Measuring. Taking inventory.
Celeste stands near the window.
Blonde hair catching the light like it was designed for moments like this. Calm. Collected. Dressed like she belongs everywhere she steps into.
She turns slowly when she hears my name.
Our eyes meet.
She smiles first.
“Solene,” she says. Gentle. Familiar. Like we’re friends. Like she didn’t post that
