December 22nd
Samara stirred to the sound of Tazara shaking her shoulder. "Get up. We're going to the Christmas village!"
Samara groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. "I don't wanna go," she mumbled.
Tazara rolled her eyes. "Too bad. If you stay here, you're just gonna sulk and obsess over her all day. So, get up, get dressed, and let's go. We're leaving in 20 minutes."
Reluctantly, Samara dragged herself out of bed. She dressed warmly in a thick sweater, jeans, and her favorite scarf before shuffling into Tazara's car. The heater was blasting, and as soon as the door shut, Mariah Carey's Merry Christmas album blared from the speakers.
"Seriously?" Samara muttered, slumping in her seat.
"It's festive," Tazara said with a grin, turning the volume up even louder.
Snow fell softly outside, blanketing the streets as they drove. Samara couldn't help but pull out her phone, glancing at her messages. Her thumb hovered over Kamala's name before she finally typed out a quick text.
"Can we go over the files again today? Maybe over the phone?"
Before she could hit send, Tazara snatched the phone from her hand.
"Hey!" Samara protested.
Tazara tossed the phone into the backseat without looking
. "Nope. You're not texting your prom date. Today's about having fun. Enjoy the day, or at least try to."
Samara pouted, crossing her arms. "Fine."
Tazara smirked and turned the music up even louder, singing along dramatically to All I Want for Christmas Is You.
---
Meanwhile, Kamala sat in her study, a pot of coffee steaming beside her as she sifted through case files. Her desk was covered in papers, sticky notes, and highlighted sections. She typed away on her laptop, drafting scripts and arguments, the exhaustion clear in her furrowed brow but determination keeping her going.
The work Samara had done was thorough, almost flawless, but Kamala had gone through every detail herself anyway. She couldn't rely on anyone else completely, not now. She took a sip of her coffee, reread the final words of the case document, and wrote her last note.
Finally done.
Her phone buzzed on the edge of the desk. She picked it up and read the message:
"Can we go over the files again today? Maybe over the phone?"
Kamala sighed, reading the text out loud before shaking her head. "No, Samara." She gritted
She quickly typed a response
Kamala
"No. I suggest you get familiar with the case yourself. Your mentor will be doing the same-alone."
After hitting send, Kamala hesitated for a moment. Then she went into her settings, blocked Samara's number, and archived their message thread.
The room felt eerily quiet once the phone was out of sight. Kamala leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. She told herself it was for the best, but the ache in her chest said otherwise.
-
Samara glided across the ice, her movements steady and practiced. The rink was bustling with laughter and chatter, holiday cheer reflected in the twinkling lights strung above. Tazara, ever the social butterfly, skated around making small talk with strangers and cracking jokes, her laughter loud enough to echo across the rink.
Samara, on the other hand, was silent, her expression blank. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the text Kamala had sent her over and over. She couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them, and she didn't know why.
She wanted to know why, even if it wasn't the best thing.
Excusing herself, Samara slipped off the ice and into the nearest restroom. She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Kamala's number, her heart pounding as she waited for the call to connect.
The number you have dialed is no longer in service.
The robotic voice on the other end hit her like a punch to the gut.
Kamala had blocked her.
"This Bitch!?" Samara grunted, but instantly cursed herself
Samara's grip on her phone tightened, her breathing shallow as panic began to creep in.
What had she done?
What could she possibly have done to warrant this?
"Samara!"
Tazara's voice snapped her out of her trance. She turned to see her friend skating toward her, a concerned look on her face.
"What happened? You've been weird."
Samara hesitated before answering, her voice small. "Kamala texted me back. She said she's working on the case alone and that I should get familiar with it myself."
Tazara frowned.
"And that's why you're sulking?"
"It's not just that," Samara said, her voice trembling.
"She's acting so... distant. Like I did something wrong. I was worried I'd messed up so badly that Kamala might-"
"Pull the rug out from under you?" Tazara finished, her tone sharp.
Samara flinched and looked away, unable to answer.
Tazara sighed.
"I'm sorry, but it's true, isn't it? You're racking your brain because you're scared of her. Scared of what she might do if you don't do what she wants, when she wants it. You're scared you've become her pet. Her plaything. And worse, you're scared you like it. That's why you're humping her leg like some lovesick puppy, taking your reward."
The words stung, and tears welled up in Samara's eyes. She turned away, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold back the sobs.
"Hey, hey," Tazara said quickly, skating over and taking her arm.
"Come on, let's get off the ice."
She guided Samara to a bench on the side of the rink, sitting her down and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"Breathe, Sam. It's not the end of the world, okay? If she really loves you, and I mean really loves you, professor Harris will come around. You know, old pussy is complicated."
"OH MY GOD!"
Samara wiped her eyes, sniffling.
"BUT!? What if she doesn't? What if I'm just a mistake she regrets?"
Tazara shook her head. "Then she's the one who's losing out. Not you."
Samara looked at her friend, the weight of her fears still heavy on her chest but slightly less suffocating. "Thanks," she muttered.
Tazara grinned, giving her a playful nudge. "Now, let's go get some hot cocoa and pretend we didn't just have this heart-to-heart, okay?"
Samara managed a small smile. "Okay."
Samara and Tazara wandered through the Christmas village, stopping at nearly every food stall they could find.
Greasy, comforting aromas filled the air, and they could resist the temptation, but tazara was sure she'd put the zip lock bags in her pocket to use. They started with loaded fries smothered in cheese and bacon, didn't finish and stuffed them in a bag. Moved on to bacon strips covered in various things, the size of their arms. While somehow thinking, cinnamon churros dipped in chocolate come back to bite them.
"This is way too much," Samara said between bites of a fried Oreo, the rest of which she'd put in a zip lock herself, though she didn't sound remotely sorry.
Tazara snorted, taking a big sip of her hot cocoa. "Way too much? Nah. This is the exact amount we needed! THIS SHIT GONNA BE SO GOOD WHEN THAT HIGH HITS! "
By the end of the night, they were stuffed, their wallets significantly lighter, and their moods noticeably better.
Back in their dorm room, Tazara opened the window to let the cool night air in, pulling out a joint she had tucked away in her jacket. She lit it, taking a slow drag before passing it to Samara.
"Nothing like a cold cigarette to ease the pain," Tazara jokes, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
Samara leaned against the window, taking a hit and holding it in for a long moment before exhaling with a small cough.
"I swear this shit makes you dumber and dumber."
Tazara laughed, looking out at the snowy campus below. "So what... Doesn't make me dumb enough to see what Claire Washington is doing to me."
Samara turned to her, raising an eyebrow.
"I kind of get what you see in older women now," Tazara admitted, a sly grin creeping across her face.
"I mean, I get hot around her. But I know she's just teasing, and I know she'd never actually go for it. Not the way Kamala did with you. "
Samara smirked, passing the joint back. "Ouch. Kind of feel attacked, but I get it."
Tazara took another drag, holding the smoke before letting it out slowly. "Don't get me wrong, though. I'd love to have something like what you've got. Even if it's a mess. But she is untouchable...well won't let me touch her"
Samara didn't respond right away, her thoughts drifting back to Kamala. She took the joint, inhaled before finally speaking.
"You think there's a reason Kamala's acting this way?"
Tazara shrugged. "There's always a reason. The question is whether she'll ever tell you what it is."
Samara hesitated, her voice quiet when she spoke again. "What if... what if Claire and Kamala used to be involved somehow? Like, in some type of way? The case file she brought me is the case she's working on. That bitch is the damn attorney I'm supposed to shadow for that internship"
Tazara's eyebrows shot up. "You think?"
"I don't know," Samara admitted, staring at the joint in her hand.
"It just... would explain some things? Like why Kamala's so distant all of a sudden. She might be setting boundaries, maybe with this she thinks things are getting too close?"
"Girl, she brought you a damn laptop, a new out of the box laptop, and gave you the internship of a lifetime just because. And not to mention she our professor and if your right she about to be your boss"
Samara signed in defeat.
Kamala couldn't be this dense not to just talk to her.
Tazara let out a low whistle. "If that is true, I bet five dollars that Claire and Kamala's past have something to do with that gun you pissed yourself over."
"I'm.too broke and tried to bet away what little I have, so I'll just take your word," Samara said, her voice heavy.
"Well see, we start Monday"
Monday, December 23rd
Samara groaned as her alarm blared, fumbling to shut it off. She rubbed her face and sat up, stretching before calling out, "Tazara, get up! First day, let's go!"
Tazara's muffled groan came from the other room. "Five more minutes!"
"Nope," Samara shot back, dragging herself out of bed. She shuffled into the kitchen to grab a quick snack before heading back to her room to get ready. By the time she emerged, fully dressed and coat in hand, Tazara was trudging out of her room looking half awake.
They got ready in relative silence, both still groggy but determined. Tazara had learned not to bring up Kamala anymore, it was a sore subject, and Samara had just begun to stabilize, no longer breaking into random tears. Still, as they grabbed their purses and walked toward their cars, Tazara hesitated.
"You gonna be okay?" she asked cautiously.
Samara paused, then nodded. "Yeah." Without another word, she got into her car, tossed her purse and case files onto the passenger seat, and started the engine.
As she drove, her mind betrayed her, filling with memories of Kamala. She could almost feel Kamala's hand on her thigh, the way it used to make her skin burn. Now, the thought sent a shiver down her spine. She loved Kamala, she couldn't deny that. But the ache in her heart was unbearable, and she didn't know how long she could wait for Kamala to decide what she wanted.
Meanwhile, Tazara was driving with the radio blasting cheerful Christmas tunes when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and instantly got antsy, Claire Washington.
She answered quickly, trying to sound casual. "Hello?"
"Good morning, Tazara," Claire's smooth, teasing voice came through. "You know, every time I hear your voice, you sound so professional. It's like you prepare yourself just for me."
Tazara choked, coughing as her cheeks burned. "I-uh-I just like to leave a good impression," she stammered, making Claire laugh.
"Relax, I'm just teasing," Claire said, her tone warm. "It's going to be fun having you around, I can already tell."
Tazara's heart raced as Claire sighed, her voice turning serious. "Alright, I'll cut to the chase. When you get here, come straight to my office. We're going to start building a script and reviewing everything we have with Daniel and Sophie. Got it?"
"Got it," Tazara replied, managing to sound steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.
"Good. See you soon," Claire said before hanging up.
Tazara let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, gripping the steering wheel tightly. This is going to be interesting, she thought, shaking her head as she turned up the radio and focused on the road ahead.
-
Tazara entered Claire's office, finding the team already seated around the desk. Claire sat behind it with her usual poised demeanor, her expression softening into an approving smile as Tazara hurriedly sat down and opened her notes.
"Good timing, Tazara," Claire said, gesturing toward the documents spread across the desk.
"Sophie's already drafted an outline document. Today is about brainstorming...throw out whatever ideas come to mind. Anything can be helpful."
Tazara nodded, her nerves settling slightly.
Claire continued, "By lunch, we aim to have the main arguments, redirects, possible objections, and alternative approaches outlined. After lunch, we'll tackle the proposed solutions from the DA's office and draft our counterarguments. This is going to be thorough, so stay sharp."
The group murmured their agreement, flipping through their respective materials. Claire's gaze sharpened as she addressed Tazara directly.
"I'm counting on you to contribute as much as possible. I suspect you might have a unique perspective, given your connection to the players on the other side. Isn't your friend's mentor, both your professors, and our opponent, Kamala Harris?"
Tazara stiffened, her mouth going dry. She nodded hesitantly.
Though she hadn't known for sure, their professor was going to be working at the DA's office with Samara.
Over Samara.
She had to tell her.
Warn her?
No. Then Samara wouldn't go to the internship.
So she'd keep her mouth somewhat shut.
"Any insight would be invaluable," Claire said, her tone suggesting more than she was explicitly saying.
"Think strategically. Anything we can use to undermine the DA's credibility will help, especially if the judge decides to proceed without disbarring me. The stakes lower but are still high, and every detail counts."
The room fell silent, all eyes on Tazara. Sophie, Daniel, and Claire waited, their expressions expectant.
Tazara shifted uncomfortably, her mind racing.
The insinuation was clear: Claire wanted her to share something damaging.
'Girl I'm so fucking sorry' she thought
Finally, the pressure overwhelmed her, and she blurted out, " there's a inappropriate relationship between Professor Harris and one of her students"
The room remained silent for a beat. Sophie raised an eyebrow, Daniel glanced at Claire, and Claire leaned back in her chair, a slow smile spreading across her lips.
"Interesting," Claire said, her voice silky.
"And this student. Any chance they're connected to the case?"
Tazara swallowed hard. "It's Samara."
Claire's smile widened. "Well, that's certainly a card we can play. If we need to, we'll bring it up... challenge Harris's credibility. I know the thing that could be said can't be proven, sadly. But let's tread carefully, we'll save it as a last resort."
Tazara nodded, guilt gnawing at her, but she pushed it aside. She told herself it was just strategy, nothing personal.
No rivalry. They agreed. Tazara would run her mouth about all of this anyway when she got back to the dorms, Samara would likely tell Kamala everything she said as well.
"Good work," Claire said, her voice full of approval. "Let's keep building on this momentum."
The group turned back to their work, the air in the room buzzing with tension and a hint of malice. Tazara tried to focus on the task at hand, but she had to text Samara.
Tazara
Girl, I just outed you and Kamala's relationship to the small group working on this damn lawsuit.
They know y'all fucking.
But FUCK THIS CLAIRE CHICK, SHE BASICALLY MIND FUCKED ME
-
Samara's stomach churned as she shuffled through the line at security. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, but the sound seemed distant, drowned out by the noise in her own head. As she passed through the checkpoint, her eyes caught a glimpse of a woman ahead of her. There was something hauntingly familiar about her, dark hair swept into a bun, sharp features, and a posture that commanded attention.
Samara squinted, trying to focus on the woman's face, but the world seemed to shift slightly, lightening in an almost surreal way. She blinked, and by the time her vision adjusted, the woman was gone.
Shaking off the strange feeling, Samara pushed through to the other side of security, clipped her badge to her blazer, and opened the folder in her hands. Her eyes skimmed the papers, searching for her assignment.
Then her breath caught in her throat.
Kamala Harris.
Her heart raced. This cannot be happening.
Before she could process the shock, a familiar voice broke through the chaos in her mind.
"Good morning, Samara."
She looked up blankly, anger still visible, her mouth dry. There she was, Kamala, standing a few feet away, composed and professional, as if nothing had ever happened between them.
"Good morning," Samara managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kamala gave her a polite nod, her face unreadable. "Follow me. We're on a tight schedule."
Without another word, Kamala turned on her heel and began walking briskly toward the elevators. Samara hurried to catch up, clutching her folder tightly.
They stepped into the elevator, and Kamala pressed the button for the third floor. The air inside the small space was stifling, thick. Kamala stood in the far corner, her posture rigid, while Samara remained in the opposite corner, her eyes fixed on the glowing floor numbers.
The silence was suffocating. Samara's mind raced with questions, accusations, and things she knew she couldn't say. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to look at Kamala.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Kamala stepped out first, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Samara followed, feeling like she was stepping into another world.
The third floor was bustling, papers rustling, voices murmuring, and the faint scent of coffee hanging in the air. The walls were lined with shelves of legal books, and the tables were covered in case files.
"Welcome to criminal law," Kamala said without turning back, her voice cool and detached.
Samara swallowed hard, her legs moving automatically as she followed Kamala further into the room. For a moment, she felt like a stranger in her own body.
This was going to be a long day.
The room fell silent as Kamala strode to the head of the conference table. Samara followed at a distance, unsure whether to sit or stand. Kamala made the decision for her.
"Sit," she ordered curtly, barely sparing Samara a glance as she powered on her laptop.
The tension in the air was suffocating, but Kamala's voice was steady as she addressed the group of junior associates scattered around the room.
"Just for formality for the camreas, I'm Kamala Harris. We'll dive straight into case strategy. This is prosecution not defense, and Christmas is just around the corner, and we don't have time to waste."
Her gaze stopped briefly on Samara before moving on. Samara felt Kamala's irritation radiate like heat, and her chest tightened. She kept her head down, busying herself with her notes, but she could feel Kamala's eyes on her now and then, watchful and sharp, like a hawk circling its prey.
"Samara," Kamala said abruptly, her tone clipped. "I know you've already familiarized yourself with the case."
Samara nodded, her throat dry.
"Good," Kamala said, the word laced with sarcasm. "I also assume you've already thought of some general points we need to cover. So let's hear them, what penalties do we propose since disbarment is off the table and if the judge does not have a suitable punishment though of themselves?"
Samara opened her mouth to respond, but Kamala kept talking, her irritation bleeding through her measured tone.
"We can't afford the perception that it's a manhunt that stumbled and failed because of sloppy handling. This case will land where it's meant to, or we will hold ourselves accountable."
Kamala's hand trembled as she gestured, gripping the edge of the table to steady herself. Her other hand clenched and unclenched at her side, her knuckles whitening with the effort. Samara noticed, her nerves on high alert. Kamala's irritation felt like a storm cloud ready to burst. She kept her responses short and direct, trying not to provoke Kamala further, but her sharp tone and tense demeanor made it impossible to relax.
As Kamala finally sat down, opening her laptop and rifling through a stack of papers, Samara glanced at her phone to break the tension. She saw a new text from Tazara and couldn't stop herself from blurting out:
" What's going on? You look exhausted, you kicked me out, you're shaking, did I do something wrong? Just tell me. I can fix it! I'll do whatever you need me to!"
Kamala froze, her hands hovering over her keyboard. Then, in one swift motion, she snatched Samara's phone from the table.
Her eyes darted over the screen, her expression hardening as she read the message. Her face turned red, and her breathing quickened.
Without warning, Kamala slammed the phone back onto the table with a loud clatter. She stood abruptly, her chair screeching against the floor as she pushed it back. Covering her face with her hands, she began pacing the room, her breaths rugged and uneven.
Samara sat frozen, her own breathing shallow. Kamala's erratic movements and reddened face sent a chill down her spine. This wasn't the composed, confident woman she admired, this was someone unraveling right before her eyes.
Kamala's pacing became more frantic as the words spilled out of her in a torrent, her voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.
"Why the hell would Tazara tell Claire Washington that? Of all people? Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Samara flinched but didn't back down. "I didn't do anything! I didn't know Tazara would say anything! Why are you blaming me?"
Kamala let out a bitter laugh, tears pricking her eyes. She pressed her palms into her temples, shaking her head, as if trying to erase the reality of the moment. "This is all spiraling out of control. Claire... God, Claire's using your friend to dig into my life. She's going to tear apart everything, why the hell did I take this case..."
"Kamala-"
"It all has to stop now! No more Friday nights, no nothing, you are my student, you are my intern" Kamala shouted, cutting her off.
Her voice cracked, but there was no mistaking the anger and fear laced through it. "This... whatever this is... I can't do it anymore!" she said sternly, but the slight waver in her voice showed there was no conviction behind it, though it still hit Samara as if it did
Samara felt a lump rise in her throat. Her hands trembled as she clenched them into fists.
"I don't want it to stop, All I've been thinking about is things to make it right, to make this work?" she said softly but firmly.
"Do you think this hasn't been eating me alive too?" She wasn't really listening to what Samara was saying
" You've been on my mind since Friday. I've cried. I've called, I've texted-" Her voice broke. "You blocked me, Kamala! I've been losing my mind trying to figure out what I did wrong. Just tell me!"
Kamala laughed bitterly, brushing tears off her cheeks. "You think this is just about me losing my teaching position at Howard? You think that's the worst thing that could happen here?"
"Then what is it?" Samara snapped, her voice rising. "What's so much worse than that? You can't lose your license, you haven't broken any laws?"
Kamala stopped pacing and turned to face Samara, her expression a mixture of anguish and defiance. "One of us can't win this."
Samara's brow furrowed. "What does that even mean?"
Kamala's voice softened, but it carried a weight that pressed against the walls of the room.
"If Claire and I hadn't done the things we did back when we were just starting out... I wouldn't care so much, I wouldn't have to. I wouldn't be freaking out that I know exactly what she's doing, she could bring it up, all of it." She trailed off for a second
" I'd retire. I'd leave it all behind, the courtroom, everything. I'd be living my best life, never teaching, never meeting you or Tazara."
"That's great," Samara shot back, her tone sharp with pain. "That's nice and all about you and Claire's past, but it doesn't explain how you treated me. How are you treating me now."
Kamala's composure cracked completely. She threw her hands up, her voice raw with emotion. "Because I can't! I can't let myself care about you, not the way you want me to. Don't you get it? I've done too much, I've done this all before, and it ends all the same, Samara. I've ruined the one thing I loved, all for the sake of winning. And I kept winning, and if I don't end this with you, I lose."
"I lost to her again."
"Lose what?" Samara demanded, her eyes filling with tears.
"Myself! I LOSE WHAT I LOVE AND SHE GETS AWAY WITH IT AGAIN." Kamala shouted, her voice trembling.
"If I let you in, if I let myself care for you the way I... the way I do, it'll all come crashing down when she- IF she wins. You'll get taken away, I can't have you, she'll probably send an inquiry to Howard about us, and... everyone I've sacrificed, everything I've done to get here, it'll all be for nothing"
Samara stared at her, stunned. The room felt too small, the air too thick. "You're scared of losing to her? You're scared she'll run and table on us? You're three times my age and acting like a kindergartener. You don't lose anything other than this case if she wins! "
She doesn't answer.
"Someone or something else doesn't get to decide if I leave you or not." she said quietly.
"I'm not leaving you?"
Kamala's breathing hitched as she looked away, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I'm sorry, Samara," she whispered.
" this is over." Kamal sobbed as if being held at gunpoint
"For you, for me, this will be good."
Samara sat frozen in her chair, her mind spinning as Kamala's retreating footsteps echoed in the room. She glanced down at the files scattered in front of her, the highlighted portions mocking her like bright, neon reminders of her diminished role. Kamala hadn't just dismissed her; she had reduced her to nothing more than a tool-a convenient pawn in her carefully constructed game.
Her fingers trembled as she slid her phone back into her hand. She opened Kamala's contact, staring at it for a long moment before hitting the block button. It felt symbolic, but hollow. Blocking Kamala's number wouldn't block the storm raging inside her chest.
Samara knew Kamala was lying, just like she found herself laid at Kamala feet when's he tried to ignore her, Kamala would be doing the same. She'd get what he wanted, Samara would leave her, it was over.
She wouldn't get to do this to her and not get some type of payback.
The lunch hour dragged on, each second heavier than the last. Samara's stomach churned as she tried to focus on the case files, but the words swam on the page. Her mind kept replaying Kamala's words.
"This is over." The finality of it. The cold detachment. It was as if Samara's love, her devotion, had meant nothing.
Kamala returned with lunch a while later, setting a box on the table without a word. She didn't look at Samara as she settled into her chair and resumed typing, her posture rigid, her eyes locked on the screen.
"Miss Harris," Samara started, her voice shaking slightly, but Kamala held up a hand, cutting her off.
"Focus on the highlighted portions," Kamala said sharply, not even glancing her way.
"I plan to have you give the opening statement. That's your role."
Samara clenched her fists under the table, her nails biting into her palms. Her heart sank further at Kamala's impersonal tone.
"Got it," she mumbled, her voice hollow.
Kamala stood abruptly. "I'll be in my office if you need me. Just ask where it is, I don't need people to question why there's a lost puppy wandering the floor" She walked out without another word, leaving Samara alone with her simmering anger and growing despair.
Samara stared at the closed door for what felt like an eternity. Her chest tightened as emotions threatened to overwhelm her, anger, hurt, betrayal. She clenched her jaw, refusing to cry.
"She used me" Samara thought bitterly.
"She used me, and now she's done. No apology. Not even a lie to make me feel better."
Her gaze dropped to the files again, but all she could see was Kamala's face in her mind, the way she had looked at her before, the way she had touched her.
It had all felt so real, so genuine.
Samara had let herself believe it was more than just convenience for Kamala. A pet.
But now, as she sat alone, the pieces began to fall into place.
It wasn't love.
It was controlled.
Samara had made herself easy, always there, always willing. And Kamala had taken advantage of that. Her chest heaved as a sob threatened to escape, but she swallowed it down, her throat burning. She wouldn't cry. Not here. Not for Kamala.
But even as she told herself that, her hands shook as she reached for the files again, trying desperately to focus on the task at hand. The tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away. Kamala might have cast her aside, but Samara wasn't done. Not yet.
She would bide her time.