Without warning, the dagger brushed up against my thigh.
I asked angrily, not looking up, "What happened to her? It's evident that she is not your secret little fiancee, given that you talk of her in the past tense.
Storm took another breath, but this time it was harsher, higher, and so piercing that it threatened to sever the air in two. I resisted looking up. I was sick of hearing him breathe. Every time, it sounded more strained than the previous. I lost more and more determination the longer I kept looking at him. I had to be uninterested. I wanted to learn the truth.
When you said, "Rhys happened," my head snapped up. Those words sounded so agonised that I could picture them torturing Storm in a circle.