Max had dropped the "Sis" when referring to Elara, but my mind was too preoccupied to catch the hidden barb in her words. My head was a mess of conflicting images. Elara's hands all over my body, both intense at night—and even during the day—and caring afterward.
I bit down on my lower lip so hard I could taste the faint, metallic tang of blood. I didn't want to answer. I didn't want to speak her name. My thoughts were a tangled skein of thread, a mess so tight that it felt impossible to unravel without cutting through my own brain.
It hadn't been long since an answer—clear or not—had begun to take shape in my mind. Yet doubt crept back in once again, making me question what our relationship really was.
As I maintained my desperate silence, Max closed her mouth and stared directly at me, her gaze heavy with a silent demand for the truth. I was the first to surrender under the oppressive weight of her stare.
