Cassia pushes herself closer when I thought she couldn’t get any closer and urges me to look at her. Her right hand moves toward my face to console me, but I stop it, holding it at the wrist and pushing it back down.
“The only one of us who should be talking about our past, is you,” I tell her.
Her doe-like eyes fall under a shroud of disappointment.
But she’s not going to give up so easily.