“How long have you been here?” she asks with a quiver in her voice. She’s pinned against the front door, her handbag hugged tightly to her chest. I watch her eyes scan the room for what I assume is a weapon, and I allow myself to chuckle. That’s right, I laugh. It’s a foreign sound—one I haven’t heard since before Sienna died, I think. Stardust isn’t amused. Her dark eyes snap back to me, a scowl deepening between her brows. “You think any of this is funny?” she spits, eyes narrowed. “You’re afraid of me,” I point out, refusing to answer her obvious question. Of course, I think it’s funny. I
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