Seraphina's Point Of View
Lydia pushed herself up slowly to her feet.
Not graceful.
Not composed.
She rose like something dragged out of the dirt, breathing uneven, eyes blazing with something feral. Her chest rose and fell too fast, shoulders tight, fingers curling like she wanted to claw something apart.
Me.
Her gaze snapped up and locked onto mine, chest heaving as if she had ran a marathon.
"You bitch!"
The word cracked through the hallway. Sharp… Ugly… Alive. I didn't flinch, didn't blink. Instead, I smiled. Small. Controlled. Polite enough to mock her.
"Language, Lydia."
That only made it worse.
I watched it happen in real time, the way humiliation twisted into rage inside her. It lit up her face, stretched her mouth into something jagged. Her eyes burned brighter, like she'd finally found the thing she wanted.
A target.
She took a step closer.
"What was the meaning of what you did in there?"
Her voice wasn't loud anymore.
