I should've gone straight to my room.
Should've pretended I didn't see the way Vivienne's mask cracked in the car, how her perfectly maintained composure had developed hairline fractures that promised a complete collapse. Should've kept my mouth shut and my hands to myself and let her rebuild whatever wall she needed to survive in this house.
Instead, I stood in the driveway like an idiot, watching her climb out of the Range Rover with movements that were too sharp, too controlled. The kind of control that people use when their world is tilting sideways and they're desperate to convince everyone—including themselves—that gravity still works the way it's supposed to.
Sabrina killed the engine. Stretched with feline grace, her vampire cape settling around her shoulders like it belonged there. Her purple eyes found mine in the darkness, and something in her expression made my chest constrict in ways that had nothing to do with the crisp October air.
