Alice’s POV
When I got to the living room, I saw Phoebe seated up on the couch like a guest who had overstayed her welcome.
She was still in the same cream cashmere top and fitted jeans she wore to school, but she looked... smaller somehow — like someone caught in the middle of a storm.
Jane stood near the kitchen counter, eyeing Phoebe like she was a stray cat that had wandered into our apartment.
Suspicious. Defensive. Ready to pounce.
I walked over slowly, my brows furrowed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
She looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes, and for a moment, I wondered if she had cried before I came out.
She looked like she was unraveling — her lips trembled, and her hands were clenched tightly in her lap.
“Alice…” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
