Grant

“She’s asleep,” I said quietly, voice low, rough from everything.

Aria looked up at me, eyes glassy, face still wet with tears she hadn’t wiped away. She was curled on the couch like she hadn’t moved in hours. Half-asleep. Fully broken. But the second our eyes met, I knew.

She wasn’t letting this go.

“We can talk tomorrow,” I murmured, hoping, maybe begging a little, but she shook her head like the ache wouldn’t wait that long.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, ...