Elara leaned back in the plush leather seat of the car, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. The morning had been a whirlwind of emotions, and now, sitting next to Marisol, the only thing louder than the hum of the engine was her own thoughts.
Marisol, ever composed and impeccably dressed, scrolled through her phone with one hand while sipping an iced coffee with the other. Her sunglasses perched perfectly on her nose, she looked like she could manage a high-profile crisis without spilling a drop.
"Alright, spill it," Marisol said suddenly, not looking up from her screen.
Elara blinked. "What?"
"You've been sighing like an opera ghost since we got in the car," Marisol replied, finally turning her gaze toward Elara. "What happened? And don't even try the 'nothing's wrong' act; I invented that move."
Elara hesitated, her fingers twisting the fabric in her lap. "It's just... Amara."
