My breathing was still unstable. Trembling.
Not from the cold—but from something far deeper: anxiety.
"Are you really not going to tell me about that monster?" I asked, barely a whisper.
There was no answer. Only the soft sound of fabric rustling as Selene moved.
I glanced back. She was lying casually, one leg bent up, the other dangling from the emergency cot. She looked... content? Or just pretending?
"I don't like being lied to, Selene," I said again, this time with a hint of a challenge in my tone.
Selene turned her head, her eyes narrowing. There was a small smile on her lips—a smile as thin as a surgeon's scalpel.
"And I don't like being questioned like a child," she retorted. Light, but cold.
I bit my lip.
Okay, from now on, I knew I had to be careful.
"Why did you have to force it so much earlier?" I asked softly.
"What?" She slowly sat up, then leaned against the wall. Her hair fell messily, covering half her face. "You said that was forcing it?"
