“Your name,” I insist. She pauses and holds out a pale hand, and it takes a second to realize she’s asking for the ponytail holder. Blowing out a breath through my nose, I slip the band off my wrist and drop it in her palm. A few more moments of silence pass, and I don’t soften my gaze, boring holes into her face through the mirror, still waiting for an answer. “Sydney,”
―
H.D. Carlton,
Hunting Adeline