Maria.
I stormed out of Davian's room, my chest heaving, each breath coming out sharper than the last. The door had barely stopped moving behind me when I was already halfway down the hallway, my steps quick, almost unsteady with the force of everything I was trying to contain.
My palm still stung.
A sharp, lingering burn that refused to fade.
The slap.
It replayed in my mind over and over again, the sound echoing louder than it should have, sharper than it had any right to be. I could still feel the impact in my hand, still see the moment frozen in my thoughts.
But I didn't slow down.
I couldn't.
Not even a little.
Because if I did, if I allowed myself even a second to stop, to breathe, to think—I knew exactly what would happen.
I might lose the little control I had left.
And right now, that thin thread of control was all that was holding me together.
Everything inside me felt too close to the surface, sharp and unstable.
