She turned on her heel, the expensive fabric she had taken from Amara's closet, swishing against her legs. She walked toward the door with a slow, steady pace that felt like a slap.
"Amira!"
The name tore from Madam Pedro's throat, raw and jagged. It wasn't a command anymore; it was a sob for a girl who had already vanished behind a mask of hate.
Amira didn't blink. She didn't even break her stride. The silk of the stolen dress hissed against the floor as she marched toward the door. The heavy thud of her heels echoed in the silent hallway like a ticking clock.
She threw herself into Amara's car, the engine screaming to life with a roar that shook the windows of the house. Gravel flew like a shrapnel as she tore out of the driveway, her foot flopping heavy on the gas.
She reached the massive iron gates, her heart hammering against her ribs, when a shadow lunged into the road.
Amira slammed on the brakes.
