“Then prove it,” I say softly.
Her hands clench, nails digging into her palms. “You want proof so you can own me.”
I blink. “That’s delusional.”
“You want to put me in a box,” she says, words tumbling faster. “Label me. Use me. Like everyone does.”
“I’m not everyone.”
Her eyes shine. “No. You’re worse.”
Now the couple is staring. Iris shoves her chair back; it scrapes loud.
“Fine,” she says, too bright. “You want proof? Here’s proof—I know things no one else knows.”
I don’t move. “Like what?”
She leans over the table, close enough that I can see the tremor in her pupils. “Like what you did for love.”
My stomach drops.
I force a laugh. “You’re guessing.”
“No,” Iris whispers. “I’m not.”
I hold her gaze. “Say it.”
Her smile turns small and sharp. “You know exactly what I mean.”
A beat. A dare.
Then Iris straightens, snatches her bag, and looks down at me like she pities me.
“You can have your little lab test,” she says, suddenly calm, like the outburst never happened. “Just not yet. Not until you earn it.”
“Earn it,” I repeat, flat.
“Yes.” Her eyes gleam. “You want family? You act like family.”
My jaw locks. “I don’t want family.”
Iris smiles wider. “Liar.”
Then she turns and walks out.
No apology. No cleanup. No explanation.
Chaos with lipstick.
I sit there a moment longer, staring at the door she disappeared through.
My phone buzzes again. This time I pull it out.
Blake:You okay? ETA 20. Need anything?
I type:Fine.
Delete it.
