The room was filled with uneasy tension, the aftermath of the harsh truths and memories that had been unraveled. Camila, with a smug smile playing on her lips, took in Meirah's defeated posture: her head hung low and her hair cascading around her face, hiding her features.
The seconds felt like minutes, and every silent moment emboldened Camila more. She interpreted Meirah's silence as an admission of guilt, as proof of her triumph. Drawing in a deep breath, ready to deliver a sarcastic remark and savor her perceived victory, she started, "Well, Meirah, isn't it funny how—"
But she was stopped mid-sentence. Meirah slowly lifted her head, and when her eyes met Camila's, they held a gleam that Camila had never seen before. It wasn't the look of someone defeated. Instead, her eyes were fill
