The echo of the imagined slap lingered in my mind, sharp and satisfying, replaying like a movie I wasn't supposed to watch.
I could see it clearly: the way her head jerked to the side, the way her body wavered, the fleeting shock that flickered across her face before she stumbled to the floor.
It would have been effortless. Too effortless. My fingers twitched almost involuntarily at my side, the phantom sensation stubbornly clinging to my palm, but of course, it hadn't happened.
I hadn't touched her. Not once.
Elena stood in front of me, serene, untouched, her hand frozen mid-gesture, her expression warm and entirely unaware of the violent thought I had just entertained.
"Little sister," she said again, softer this time, stepping closer, her voice threading through the space between us.
I studied her carefully, letting my gaze linger just long enough to memorize the curve of her smile, the tilt of her head.
