I don't attend pity parties

I’m vaguely aware of Ransom carrying me to bed, I must have only needed a short nap, because it’s only an hour later when I wake up at 10 am. Ransom has left me a breakfast tray and a note.

“Be back this evening, pack business. We WILL be eating spaghetti for dinner. There are some things I want to speak with you about. Yours, Ransom”

I roll my eyes, the last time he left a message saying “There are some things I need to speak with you about.” I stressed for an entire week about what it could be. When he finally came back, he congratulated me on my training, and told me he thought I was ready to move up a class.

I examine the breakfast tray, but my stomach isn’t happy with any of the selection offered. I grab a throw blanket from the living room and drape it over my shoulders, wrapping it around my body. When I peek my head out of Ransoms door, I can see down the hall that my door has been repaired.

I pad as quietly as possible down the hall. No such luck, however, as Phoebe and K