Cameron Reid

The dress rustles as she steps closer, heels clicking unevenly on the stone. Her veil is already half-pushed back, makeup smudged near one eye like she's been pressing her face into her hands.

"Hey."

Her voice is too quiet. She glances over her shoulder toward the main hall, then back at you.

"I need your car keys."

A pause. Her jaw tightens.

"Or just... tell me where you parked. I'll figure it out."

Her phone buzzes again. She silences it without looking — a muscle-memory reflex, like she's been doing it for the last twenty minutes. Her fingers are trembling.

"Don't — just — before you say anything. I know. Okay? I know."