Stop believing in Zaya

The glass felt cool in my hand, a sharp contrast to the heat pulsing through my temples. I sipped the water slowly, hoping the pounding headache that had settled in since I got home would subside.

The quiet of my living room was usually comforting, but tonight it felt suffocating, the silence only amplifying the mess in my head.

I sank deeper into the couch, pulling a blanket over my lap, but it did nothing to ward off the chill I felt. Zaya's face kept flashing in my mind—her eyes, dark and full of something I couldn't place. Frustration? Hurt? Both?

A voice in the back of my mind whispered, soft but insistent.

She's not enough.

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. It wasn't my voice, not really. It felt like an intruder, threading doubt into moments where none should exist.

But it lingered.

She's going to hurt you, Layla. You know she will.