Chapter 33

• Ayla
• She knew it always set me off when she called Marley mother, so I lifted the mirror and aimed a look at Lyric through the glass, cool and pointed. She didn’t wait for me to hide behind the reflection before she jabbed again.
• “And don’t start with the ‘I feel bad for him’ routine,” she snapped, dropping onto the vanity stool and idly rubbing the back of her neck. “You and I both remember the cottage. The supermarket shifts, the neighbors bringing pity meals every morning, you hated every second. You never wanted their sympathy.”