Amara's POV
Tristan's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
My words weren't born from arrogance. I was beautiful—undeniably so—the kind of beauty that made heads turn in any crowd.
But I carried something else with me. Something that warned people to keep their distance. Not aggression exactly, but something unsettling—like stumbling across a vintage doll abandoned on your doorstep in the dead of night.
Running into me after dark felt like encountering a spirit.
Meeting me in daylight felt like seeing that same spirit under the blazing sun.
The sensation hadn't been as intense back in our school days. But now, trapped in this car while Tristan studied my blank expression, this man in his twenties was breaking out in goosebumps.
Tristan managed a rigid smile. "Listen... Miss, there's no need to get worked up... We went to your school looking for Byron, but... since we came up empty, we're hoping you might lend us a hand."
