My dignity had already died a violent death, but apparently fate wanted it buried and cremated because the man did not put me down.
Not when we stepped off the platform.
Not when the Cameron kept snort-laughing behind us.
Not even when Aria muttered, "Bella, stop squirming. You look like an angry ferret trying to escape a bath."
"I—am—NOT—squirming," I hissed, squirming violently.
The stranger's arms tightened, steady but not restrictive—just enough to keep me from face-planting.
"Careful," he murmured again.
That voice.
That voice.
It slid down my spine like something I should've remembered.
No.
Not remembered.
Recognized.
But I didn't.
And that confused, irritated, and terrified me.
"Put me down," I demanded, pointing weakly at the ground like it owed me something. "I can walk."
"You just tried," the Cameron drawled, strolling beside us like this was the most entertaining parade in the world. "Didn't go well."
Aria elbowed him so hard the wind left his lungs.
