Zara's eyes are fixated on the box of cookies, holding them like a sacred object, her squinty gaze trying to figure them out.
Lily is out of my view, but from where I sit on the couch facing the door, Zara's posture is clear. Her rickety hands betray her nerves, her shoulders tense and curved inward as if she's ready to bolt—or worse, can't stand being here at all. Her shirt rides up with each inhale and exhale.
None of them say anything. Whenever they do, their voices are loud and precise—which wasn't the case a few days ago. Back then, they'd be giggling, squeaky, and all smiles. Now it's merely words of contempt disguised as formalities.
Lily's voice resonates as she says in a faux high-pitched tone, "Congratulations on winning the council meeting, Alpha Josh."
She makes a failed attempt to walk into the room, her shaky hands and stumbling feet blocked by a determined Zara.
I'm impressed.
