Eira considered Orla's words. She knew people like Arabella—people who were hurting and, instead of finding a way to heal, spread their pain like poison.
Malia, still grinning, gave a mock applause. "Bravo, Orla. Looks like someone's got her claws out today." She leaned back, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
Cyran, however, wasn't amused. He set his fork down. "That's harsh. You don't know what it's like for her. You don't know what she's been through."
"And neither do you," Orla shot back, crossing her arms. "But I do know the kind of person she is. I've seen her bully others for no reason, pick fights just because she's angry, and treat her so-called friends like disposable objects. A tragic backstory doesn't justify being a terrible person."
