Midnight Damage Control

The kitchen felt quieter after Helena's departure, but not in the comforting way more like the unsettling calm before a storm. Amara slumped onto a barstool next to Elara, dragging her hands down her face as if she could physically erase the last hour.

"Well, that went about as well as a fart in a funeral," Amara muttered.

Elara, perched beside her, raised an eyebrow. "To be fair, your mom isn't entirely wrong."

Amara dropped her hands and gave her a look. "You're supposed to be on my side, Elara."

Elara crossed her arms. "Oh, I am. But that doesn't mean I'm blind to the fact that she's got a point."

"Whose side are you on exactly?" Amara grumbled.

[Not yours, apparently,] the System chimed in smugly. [You really know how to pick your allies, don't you?]

"Oh, shut it," Amara snapped.

Elara smirked. "Talking to your 'inner torment' again?"

Amara sighed. "You're never letting me live that down, are you?"