The Hidden Stash

Celina

I never liked snooping. It wasn’t my style.

If anything, I’d spent most of my life wishing people would mind their own business when it came to me. But here I was, crouched in Brielle’s room, staring at the half-open wardrobe with a growing sense of unease prickling down my spine.

I hadn’t meant to look. I’d only come in to leave the recent cooking shift on her desk, stacked neatly with a yellow ...