MAYA

My fingers tightened around the stem of my glass. "No," I answered. "It's different."

Something flickered across Silas's face. It disappeared almost immediately, but not before I caught the brief tightening around his eyes.

"Different how?" he pressed, leaning in.

Why was he asking me this?

I wanted to ask him the same question. He'd told me what made Isabella different from me on the surface-we were dating, while they never had, but he still hadn't told me what he actually felt.

Yet here he was, asking me to explain feelings I was barely beginning to understand myself.

It didn't feel fair. But when I looked into the quiet...