The silence in Elara's apartment felt heavier than a truckload of bricks. Amara stood awkwardly by the window, pretending to admire the view while her brain frantically searched for something to say that wouldn't end with her being drop-kicked out of the building. Elara sat on the couch, scrolling through her phone, her lips pursed like she was trying very hard not to address the elephant in the room.
That was fine. Amara could handle this. She'd handled angry students before how different could an actress with a grudge be?
Very, apparently.
"So," Marisol began, breaking the tension like a surgeon with a scalpel, "I'll go grab lunch. There's a place nearby that does a great afternoon breakfast."
Afternoon breakfast? That made about as much sense as a cat teaching calculus, but Amara was in no mood to argue. Food meant a break from the weird vibe swirling around the room, and she needed a moment to gather her thoughts.
