Willow opened the door before she was fully ready.
She told herself she was composed and that her hair was smooth and her lipstick even and her breathing steady, yet the moment Zane stood in the doorway, tall and buttoned into a charcoal jacket with warm searching eyes, the world seemed to stagger around her. The air felt too thin and her ribs too tight, and for one dreadful second she thought he would see everything: the lingering tremor in her hands, the faint redness on her wrists, the ghost of Miles's desperate breath still clinging to her skin.
He did not react to anything unusual, or perhaps he noticed something and simply did not know how to name it yet.
