Her eyes went glassy, a dangerous sheen forming over those emerald irises that always saw too much. She blinked hard. Once. Twice. Fighting against whatever emotion was trying to claw its way out from behind her carefully maintained walls.
"You actually believe that?" The question came out rough, like her vocal cords didn't quite remember how to form words without armor wrapped around them.
"I know it." I reached up, catching a stray lock of that vibrant crimson hair—the color she'd chosen specifically to differentiate herself from Veronica's brand—and tucked it carefully behind her ear.
My fingers lingered for just a moment against the shell of her ear, feeling her pulse hammering beneath skin that was still too warm from overexertion.
"I spent eighteen years completely powerless. I know exactly what it feels like to have your entire identity reduced to a list of things you can't do. Everything you're not. Every door that's permanently closed."
