Max hesitated. Even in the dim, flickering light of the back alley, I could see the color rising to her face. She cleared her throat and slapped her cheeks lightly, as if trying to knock the nerves out of herself.
It wasn't the reaction I wanted.
I had wanted her to laugh. To brush it off. To deny it so fiercely that I could pretend I had imagined everything. That would've been easier.
"Ah… I guess I was too obvious," Max muttered, giving a small, self-conscious shrug. "If I'd known you were that sharp, I would've confessed first. You beat me to it."
She stepped closer. This time, there was no playfulness in her eyes, only something steady and frighteningly sincere.
"You're right, Lyra. I like you."
She said it as plainly as I had.
She looked down at me, her usual mischief replaced by an admirable courage.
But I couldn't wrap my head around it.
