As I enter the room, I nearly walk straight into Myra, who's standing right by the doorway with her arms crossed. She glares at me, her expression unreadable and a deep frown pulling at her face as she taps her foot on the floor in an impatient rhythm.
"Where are you coming from, Luke?" she asks, closing the distance between us in a flash. Seeing her so close, I swallow, a slight pain of nerves hitting me, worried she might catch the scent of Agnes lingering on me.
"I was at the tavern," I reply, keeping my tone confident, masking my fear with a poker face.
Myra's brow furrows even further, confusion and suspicion flashing in her eyes. "You don't drink, so why would you be at a tavern, Luke?" she presses, leaning in until her face is just inches away from mine.
