To describe Dahlia as talented would be insulting. She has a God-given gift to turn the most mundane objects into works of art, although I never stepped out of my comfort zone and praised her for it. Once I lift my fist to knock, her door flies open. “Julian?” Dahlia gapes at me with puffy eyes and a red nose. I tuck my clenched hands into my pockets. “Hey.” “Is there a reason you’re lurking around outside my room?” She checks the empty hall. “I need to talk to you.” She squints. “Since when do you willingly want to speak?” “Since my mother asked me to.”
