“Camille, we need to talk. It’s about your past.”

The voice—male, cold. Too calm, too clear. It didn’t match the mess in her chest.

She didn’t even hear the door open. Just felt the shift in the air.

Heavy. Like guilt. Like judgment.

Camille’s whole body tensed, heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to escape. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Her fingers slipped—wet with sweat—off Ellie’s hand.

Dusk had crept into the apartment like a thief. Everything was dipped in shadow—long, stretched, wrong. The blinds were busted and that damn light kept flickering like it had something to say.

She didn’t move. Just sat there, stiff, her...