Believe what you want

The tension between Maeve and me crackled in the still night air, the silence thick and heavy. Her words lingered, sharp and unsettling: I want to talk about Zaya.

I squared my shoulders, refusing to show the nerves that threatened to creep in. "If you have something to say, just say it, Maeve. I'm not in the mood for games."

Her lips quirked in a humorless smile, the faint glow of the streetlamp catching in her eyes. "You really think you know her, don't you?"

My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to remain calm. "I know enough."

"Do you?" Maeve challenged, taking a slow step closer. "Do you know what she's capable of? The kind of trail she's left behind?"

I crossed my arms, refusing to back down. "You're being dramatic. If you have something to say, stop dancing around it and spit it out."

Maeve's expression darkened, her casual demeanor slipping away. "Fine," she said, her tone laced with venom.