"Nova?" I called, the name barely more than a breath, my gaze sweeping the empty space with growing anxiety. The stillness gave me no answer. Instead, the unmistakable intonation of two voices—are familiar and so close, they drifted from just beyond my line of sight. Driven by a sudden need to keep myself hidden, I moved without thinking, dropping with a quiet rustle of fabric to hide completely beneath the heavy, draped cloth of the closest table.
A sharp, feminine voice cut through the air. "You have changed."
"Yes, I have. Everyone does," Mr. M's familiar, deep voice replied, almost detached.
"But to the point where you have to forget that your fiancée died because of her?!" The girl, Diana, suddenly burst out, her voice cracking with an untamed, visceral rage that made me involuntarily flinch.
