"Or its prisons," he countered, a smirk playing on his lips, though his eyes remained wary.
"The house looks the same," Julian remarked, his voice cutting through the clinking of silverware. matureincest
As Julian walked out to his car later that night, Claire stood on the porch, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway. "See you tomorrow?" she asked, her voice small. "Or its prisons," he countered, a smirk playing
The dinner table at the Miller household was less a place of nourishment and more a tactical map. Each place setting was a bunker, and every passing of the salt was a calculated maneuver. "Or its prisons