Aria and I stepped back into the living room, and the first thing that hit me was the palpable tension hanging in the air, thick enough to slice with a dull butter knife.
I sighed inwardly. 'Of course, Cecilia and Rachel argued about something.' It was as inevitable as gravity, though significantly less useful. The two of them were like oil and water—except the oil was explosive and the water was radioactive.
Cecilia sat perched on the armrest of the couch, her golden hair catching the light like a waterfall of molten gold. She looked utterly at ease, her lips curled into that ever-present smirk of hers. But there was something different, something I couldn't quite place. Her eyes didn't have the same glint of sharp malice they usually carried after one of her verbal sparring sessions. The usual storm of chaos around her was quieter, less destructive.
