Sitting in that office feels like being locked in a room with something sharp and waiting for it to move.
Mira sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the tension coming off her in waves. She doesn’t look at me. I don’t look at her either. We both stare straight ahead like the other doesn’t exist, even though every nerve in my body is aware of her presence.
The room is quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that presses on your ears and makes every small sound feel loud. A chair scraping somewhere down the hall. Papers shuffling. Someone clearing their throat.
I keep my hands folded in my lap so no one can see them clench.
I hate this.
I hate the waiting. I hate the uncertainty. I hate that after everything—after the challenge, after the chaos, after what happened on the grounds—we
