Chapter 39
Phoebe looked at Skylar, confused. Where did this new confidence come from? Before, Skylar couldn't even meet her eyes — she always had her head bowed, like a defeated shadow. But now, she looked at her like she was the world's most ridiculous joke, her gaze sharp and unyielding.
The faint creak of the chair echoed in the quiet room as Skylar raised an eyebrow, spun the chair slowly, then leaned forward, her voice low and steady.
"Did you come here to talk or to initiate a staring contest?" Her words cut through the still air.
Phoebe's fingers curled tightly into fists, the skin stretching taut over her knuckles. She smiled—bitter, thin, and fragile.
"Mom's sick..." she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to shatter the fragile silence.
Skylar's eyes didn't change—they were cold, blank.
"And?" she asked, the faint scratch of her pen as she swirled it in her fingers breaking the silence.
Phoebe sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion and dread.
