AMARA CHAUSSON

“What… are we even talking about?” I asked, striving to keep my calm.

“That fucking thing on your face!”

“Get used to it. I’ll be wearing this for a while.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“No. On the contrary—I’ve never been clearer-headed in my life.”

She smiled and glided toward me, her steps deliberate and slow. Amara was the kind of woman who didn’t demand attention; she commanded it through sheer detail. Her delicate face, with almost ethereal ...