Mira looked at the broken porcelain teacup in Thane's fingers, its delicate rim tracing an irregular circle in the light of the chandelier. He attempted to clear his throat, eyes fixed on the curling steam inside the cup.
Us, he whispered low, voice catching on the single word like it was fine glass he hadn't break. He set down the teacup on the low table that separated them, fingers releasing its saucer like it was hot.
Mira's heart revved—a tiny drumroll in her ribs. She folded her arms and braced herself against the velvet couch. "Us," she said, voice tone-deaf as river rocks.
Thane breathed in, shoulders easing. "I know you have moved on, Mira. I have seen the way you smile when Gregory is near."
Silence devoured those words. Mira's pulse was booming in her ears. She bit her lips,
