I looked at her. Really looked.
And that's when I saw it.
Something quiet in her expression. Not pity. Not pain. But… peace.
And it hit me like a slap.
She's already forgiven him.
The thought slammed into me, knocking the breath out of my lungs. I blinked hard, trying to shake it off. No. I was imagining things. Reading too much into the way her eyes looked softer than mine. That couldn't be right. Couldn't be.
I yanked my wrist free.
"We don't have to waste our time with this," I muttered, grabbing my bag again.
Olivia didn't budge.
"Maybe he's really changed," she said gently, like she was trying not to startle me. "People can. Sometimes."
"Not him," I snapped. "Don't you dare try to paint him as human. Not after everything he—"
A knock Interrupted me.
The door creaked open and a young woman peeked in, wearing a plain shirt with the shelter's logo stitched into the breast pocket.
