SOPHIA'S POVThe tea was good – really good. Mrs. Jackson always had a way of making the simplest things feel like home, like comfort wrapped in a warm mug.Sitting at her kitchen table, I let out a deep breath, letting the last of the adrenaline leave my bones. Sitting opposite me, Mrs. Jackson looked like she was still recovering from the shock of me assaulting her son, while Daniel, who liked to think of himself as the unfortunate victim here, sat with his arms crossed, looking both amused and mildly offended.“You know,” he began, eyeing me over the top of his cup, “most people introduce themselves with a handshake. Not a flying object to the face.”I gave him a tight-lipped smile, almost sarcastic. "Most people don't break into their mother’s house in the middle of the night and rummage through her kitchen like a burglar."Mrs. Jackson, ever the peacekeeper, sighed. "Oh, Sophia, really now. He wasn’t rummaging, he was making tea."“Loudly. He was making tea, loudly.” I pointed ou
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