—Alex is back.
—I'm going back to my place.
Elara stared at the message as if she could will it to change.
If she glared hard enough, maybe another notification would appear. Maybe the words would rearrange themselves into something less offensive. Something softer.
No matter how much she glared at the screen, the words remained fixed, and no further explanation followed.
More than anything, it was the phrase my place that dug under her skin.
My place.
That cramped, peeling boarding house. That narrow bed. Those thin walls.
Calling that home.
As if the apartment they had shared, the place where they had slept, eaten, tangled together, had never truly belonged to Lyra at all.
How cold.
She tossed the phone onto her desk. It hit the polished wood with a sharp clack that echoed through the office.
Leaning back in her leather chair, she let it tilt farther than it should have. The chair creaked in protest.
A tightness gripped her throat.
