The following morning, it was as if nothing had happened. Astraea slipped back into her usual blank, emotionless state, her demeanor cold and distant. No one could have guessed the horror that had unfolded the night before—except perhaps Arnav. He had an uncanny ability to sense when something was amiss, a talent honed from years of observing people on the streets. Or maybe it was a divine blessing. Either way, Astraea felt a wave of discomfort wash over her under the weight of his scrutinizing gaze, as if he were digging up the buried secrets of her soul.
She met his hazel irises with her own for just a fleeting second, unable to withstand the shiver that raced down her spine. There was something unnerving about how he seemed to peer directly into her essence, unraveling the threads of her tightly held secrets.
