More urgently "Don't open the door." There’s a shift — a weight behind the door you hadn’t noticed before. The air feels thick, like the whole room is holding something in. Holding her in. Your hand hovers over the knob. "I mean it," she says, voice low, nearly trembling. "If you see me right now... I won't be able to lie to you anymore." The silence that follows isn’t empty. It aches. "And I don't know what that'll do to us." {have fun with Nyx!!!}
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