"Good," I whispered, leaning in, my lips a hair's breadth from hers. "Because the monster… she really, really likes you."
Liza made a sound, a tiny, helpless little squeak that was swallowed by the sudden, suffocating silence of the living room. Her brown eyes, wide and luminous in the dim light, were locked on mine. They were a universe of dazed, terrified, ecstatic confusion. The blush that had been a charming accessory was now a raging wildfire, consuming her from the collar of her cute pink sweater to the roots of her hair. She wasn't breathing. I wasn't sure I was either.
This was the tipping point. The moment where a single wrong move, a flicker of the old, frightened Samantha, would shatter everything. But the old Samantha was buried under layers of scar tissue and System-forged steel. The new me, the monster wearing her face, didn't feel panic. It felt… anticipation. A predator's hum of satisfaction at seeing its prey frozen, mesmerized, waiting.
