He didn’t answer.
Just started walking toward the entrance, pulling me with him.
The automatic doors slid open, and we stepped inside.
The mall was busy—families with kids, teenagers in groups, couples walking hand-in-hand. The smell of pretzels and perfume and new clothes hit me all at once.
Amai walked like he owned the place.
Confident. Unhurried. Like every person in this mall was just an extra in a movie where he was the star.
And I was walking beside him, my hand in his, my heart racing, my mind trying to catch up to what was happening.
We walked past the food court. Past the shoe stores. Past the kiosks selling phone cases and sunglasses.
Then, I saw it.
Macy’s.
My stomach dropped.
“Amai.”
“Keep walking.”
We walked through the entrance.
And there she was.
Destiny.
Standing behind the makeup counter, her hair in a high ponytail, her nails painted red, her face done up like she was about to shoot a music video.
She looked up.
Saw me.
Then saw Amai.
Her mouth dropped open.
I felt Amai’s hand tighten around mine.
“Pick out whatever you want,” he said, his voice loud enough for Destiny to hear.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“You heard me.” He looked at Destiny. “Get the manager.”
Destiny’s eyes went wide. “I—what?”
“I said get the manager.” His voice was calm. Deadly. “Now.”
Destiny’s hands were shaking as she picked up the phone behind the counter.
A minute later, a woman in a black blazer and pencil skirt walked over. She was maybe fifty, with short gray hair and sharp eyes that softened the moment she saw Amai.
