Yara Quincy stared at her face, unwilling to look away.
'If only she were Quinn…'
This kind of gaze wasn't unfamiliar. Claire Sinclair disliked being stared at like this and interrupted, "What did my sister used to call you?"
"Yara."
"Yara..." Claire Sinclair murmured her name softly.
It was as if an old memory had been awakened in Yara Quincy. Ripples spread through her heart, only to be washed away by a wave of immense sorrow as she blurted out—
"Forget it. Don't say my name. It just reminds me that Quinn is dead, and I'd just barely managed to pull myself out of my grief."
It had been so hard to smooth over the wound, only for the scar to be ripped open today by this identical-looking person. Anyone in her shoes would have felt awful.
Without a doubt, those words wounded Claire Sinclair's heart.
'In the end, I'm not my sister. Anyone who knew her can tell.'
"I'm going to go in and see Grandpa."
Saying that, Claire Sinclair tried to slip away.
