Amanda squinted at Ulva, uncertainty flickering behind her otherwise cool facade. The field suddenly felt colder, like Ulva's words had snuffed out whatever warmth the wind might've carried.
"She did something to you, didn't she?" Amanda asked, her voice tentative but probing. "You talk like you've known her from somewhere."
Ulva didn't respond. She just stared. Not blankly — but with eyes that seemed like they were weighing something deep inside, as though she was dissecting Amanda's words for hidden meaning.
Her eyes didn't blink, didn't falter. They stayed fixed on Amanda, cold as the night air curling around them. Then she clicked her teeth, her glare tightening like a noose.
"Did you come here to play therapist and waste my time?" she said, voice flat and laced with impatience. "I came here for something. Now, either you tell me what you have, or I'll find someone else who wouldn't be wasting my time."
