Dante didn't speak right away.
He just looked at her.
Really looked at her.
Like he was checking for somethingdamage, change, proof of what she had just said. His gaze moved over her face, her posture, the way she was standing like she was still bracing for something that hadn't hit yet.
"What did they do?" he asked finally, his voice lower than before.
Camille shook her head.
"That's the problem," she said. "They didn't do anything."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't like answers like that."
"I don't like it either," she muttered.
The cold air wrapped around them, but it didn't feel grounding anymore. Not like before. Now it just made everything sharper, clearer in a way she didn't ask for.
"I sat in the chair," she said.
Dante stilled.
"And?"
Her throat tightened.
"And I shouldn't have."
"That's not an explanation."
"I know."
She ran a hand through her hair, pacing once before stopping again, like she couldn't stay still even if she tried.
