Claire pulled her hand back. Slowly. It was getting weird—too quiet, too much eye contact. She stood, a little too fast, brushing down her shirt even though it didn't need fixing.
"I should, uh… I should go," she said.
Camila didn't react at first. Just leaned back against the couch, drink still in hand, one eyebrow raised. Claire wasn't looking at her anymore—she was staring at the door, like if she could just get to it, she could breathe properly again.
"I'm not into women," Claire added suddenly, voice quiet but clear.
Camila gave a small shrug. "I didn't ask you to be."
The silence after that was a little weird. Claire shifted her weight, ready to move. But then Camila stood too. Calm. No drama. She crossed to the drawer by the bookshelf, pulled it open, and brought out a flat black folder. Taped shut. Heavy.
"Okay. One more thing before you go."
Claire didn't take it at first. So Camila set it down on the table between them and opened it herself.
