For a long moment, Cassie considered throwing her out. But May was already wandering the aisles, trailing fingers over spines like she was reading them by touch alone. She stopped at a battered copy of The Lonely Hour —a novel Cassie had loved as a teenager, one she’d never admitted to anyone.
May nodded slowly. “I know that. The hollowing out. You give pieces away until you’re just a costume of yourself.”
Outside, the streetlights flickered on. Inside, Cassie reached over and took May’s hand. Not romantic—not yet. Just a bridge. Just a I see you .