Elara moved toward the door, her long coat billowing behind her like a shroud. Max, fueled by a reckless desperation, lunged forward and grabbed Elara's collar. It was an unthinkable transgression. The fabric bunched under Max's knuckles, but Elara simply brushed the hand away with a flick of her wrist so effortless it was insulting.
Max stood her ground, grinding her teeth. She wasn't willing to let the silence win. As Elara turned her back, Max spat the words at her spine, enunciating each one like a curse.
"You're just playing with Lyra, aren't you? Passing the time until the wedding?"
The footsteps heading toward the exit stopped dead.
Elara didn't turn around fully. She only angled her head, the sharp, cold outline of her nose bridge and cheekbone catching the office light. Max didn't wait for a response; she let the rest of her poison spill out through gritted teeth.
