Sofia froze. Of all people, she hadn't expected to see Beatrice—perched gracefully at the entrance of her building like she belonged there, dressed immaculately, and smiling as if they were old friends.
"Hi, Sofia," Beatrice said sweetly.
Too sweet.
Sofia's breath hitched. Her body took a step back before her mind could even catch up. That smile—beautiful, polished, wrong. It sent a shiver down her spine.
Why is she suddenly being friendly? What does she want?
Is this because of Minerva?
"What are you doing here so early, Beatrice?" Sofia asked, keeping her voice neutral. Too neutral. Even she could hear the tension laced beneath it.
She glanced around instinctively. No cameras. No Adam. No one could explain what game was being played.
First Minerva, now Beatrice. Was this a coordinated attack? A performance?
Or worse—was this real?
Her chest tightened. The walls she'd fought to rebuild after everything were trembling again.
