The air was perfumed with the light scent of lemongrass tea and leather-bound books. Sunlight poured through the big windows, cutting strips across the gleaming floor. Dr. Mirabel Ansah's office was the type of setting that had been photographed for the cover of a lifestyle magazine—plants thriving in white ceramic pots, bookshelves lined with carefully curated books, and the quiet thrum of an air purifier making the air nearly too serene.
Zaria occupied the middle of the rich brown couch, fingers interlaced in her lap. Air-conditioning caressed the nape of her neck, but sweat still clung to the palms of her hands. She wasn't here for herself—at least, that's what she was trying to tell herself—but since Ethan had invited her.
He sat beside her, his expression blank, the brim of his cap
