~Zayn's POV~
Evric quickly grabbed Nuala's bag, took my hand, and pulled Nuala and me out of the restaurant through the back exit.
As we were ushered out, Meera's frantic voice echoed behind us, a desperate, fading cry: "Zayn!"
We stumbled out into the cool evening air. Evric had Nuala's arm in one hand and my wrist in the other, pulling us along. The three of us were silent, the noise of the confrontation still ringing in my ears. I was sticky with soda, my face stung, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the shock of what Meera had done and said.
We reached Evric's car. Evric wasn't looking at me; his movements were too precise, too calm. He opened the back door, reached in, and brought out an extra shirt. Then, with heartbreaking tenderness, he began gently unbuttoning my sticky, soda-soaked shirt.
The silent, careful attention hurt more than a shout ever could.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words trembling. "I'm so sorry, Evric."
