Zoe's POV
Brandon was fidgety, the hem of his shirt twisted in between his fingers. His eyes darted across the corridor like he was looking for an escape.
"Chloe, what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice shaky, barely above a whisper.
I gave him a hard, questioning look, shifting my eyes to Elizabeth. Her face wore the kind of shock that couldn't be faked — her lips parted slightly, her posture stiff, like someone had just pulled the floor from under her.
The air between us thickened. I could almost taste the tension — sharp, bitter, like metal. Brandon's shaky hand slid into his pocket, a poor attempt to hide how tense he was. He wouldn't look at me. That avoidance only made my stomach twist harder.
"Brandon, tell me I heard wrongly," I said, my voice coming out softer than I intended — pleading even. My feet moved before my brain caught up, my strides quick and heavy. In seconds, I was standing between them, eyes darting from Elizabeth to Brandon and back again.
