Sylvia's stomach tightened with unease. Trish's words felt… rehearsed. "Trust me," she'd said. But Sylvia had learned that people who said trust me usually had something to hide.
Still, she let it go. For now.
As they stepped inside Winn's house—Sylvia took a deep breath.
She turned to Trish with a half-hearted smile, trying to shake off the tension. "Do you want some coffee?" she asked, already walking toward the kitchen.
"Black."
As Sylvia moved around the kitchen, her back turned, Trish's expression shifted. The playful mask faded. Her fingers tapped anxiously against the counter. She thought of Evans, of Ivy's fragile body in that hospital bed, and of the dangerous game they were now both a part of.
And Sylvia, sharp as ever, felt it. She set the coffee pot down and turned slowly, studying her friend again.
Trish forced a smile. "What?"
"Nothing," Sylvia said softly.
*****
