PAIGE
The world didn't just stop. It shattered. It fractured into a million glittering, horrifying pieces right there in the perfumed air of the Bergdorf Goodman fitting room.
The heavy, beautiful dress in my arms suddenly felt like a lead weight, an absurd prop in a play that had just veered into a nightmare.
Suzume's question wasn't just a question. It was a key turning in a lock I thought was buried deep inside me. It was an arrow, fired with unerring accuracy, striking the one secret I was clutching with white-knuckled desperation.
My mouth went dry. My heart wasn't just pounding; it was a frantic, trapped bird slamming against the bars of my ribs. The air felt too thick to breathe, like I was drowning in jasmine-scented syrup.
I could feel the blood drain from my face, a cold, rushing sensation that left me lightheaded. I stared at her, my eyes wide, probably looking like a deer caught in the blinding, unforgiving headlights of a luxury car.
