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... one who made a sound, snoring softly in the back seat, her tiny head resting against the window, the remnants of a sugar rush still visible on her lips.

I glanced at Erza in the passenger seat. She stared straight ahead, her face blank, fingers absently twisting the fabric of her dress.

I'd seen Erza angry. I'd seen her smug, teasing, even genuinely amused (once, when I slipped on a wet floor and nearly took down a whole stack of groceries).

But this... this silence felt ...

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