My legs burn, my breath comes in sharp gasps, and I’m pretty sure my face is redder than a ripe tomato. But I don’t stop running. I can’t. Not when Victor is still behind me—or at least, he was. I didn’t stick around to check.
“Selina! Wait!” Celine’s voice echoes from somewhere behind me, but I don’t dare stop. My feet pound against the pavement as if my life depends on it.
Why am I even running? This is Victor, not some axe murderer. Yet, the thought of facing him, of hearing whatever he has to say about us, or anything else sends a cold wave of panic through me. A sense of anxiety washes over me as I push myself forward, weaving through the sparse crowd. I’m not ready for whatever conversation he thinks we need to have. Not now. Not ever.
When I finally glance back, I realize Victor
