Zarek
Walking beside Zara always does something to me.
I don’t know if it’s the way her steps drag a little slower than mine, like she’s carrying weight no one else can see. Or the way her eyes dart from shadow to shadow, like she’s hunting answers even when she’s pretending not to. But this morning, something was off.
She hadn’t said much, which wasn’t exactly strange—Zara could be quieter than a tomb when she wanted to be. What bothered me was where she’d been when I found her.
The boys’ restroom.
I kept glancing at her from the corner of my eye as we walked. Her jaw was tight, lips pressed thin, her mind clearly somewhere else. I wanted to demand what she’d been doing there, but I bit it back. Timing mattered. And if I’ve learned anything about Zara, it’s that she’ll shut down the
