Moonlight cut through those huge-ass windows, painting the velvet sheets in this weird silvery patchwork. Jenna was perched on the bed's edge, half dressed—well, mostly undressed if we're being honest—her stupid mask flung onto the table next to a glass of red that looked like it'd seen better days.
Behind her, Del sprawled out, curls everywhere, staring at Jenna with that look. You know the one—somewhere between "I want to know your secrets" and "I want to bite you."
"You're not who you pretend to be," Del said, voice all smoky and low, like she'd been practicing in a mirror.
Jenna just shrugged. "Who is, though?"
Del's finger drifted down Jenna's back, pausing at that old scar near her spine—like she was reading braille or something. "Most folks get duller when the mask drops, not you."
Jenna finally glanced back, eyebrow cocked. "So what, you here for me or just for the drama?"
That crooked little grin from Del. "What if it's both?"
