MICAHI could not eat.Breakfast on the dining table was something to be featured in a magazine — fresh berries placed in a bowl of white porcelain, a silver carafe of orange juice forming drops of condensation on polished mahogany, eggs cooked into perfect yellow crescents, toast cut into triangles, and the crusts of which were removed as if I was some kind of invalid who could not deal with corners. Blaze was sitting at the head of the table, watching me with those pale blue eyes that missed nothing, his own plate remaining untouched, his coffee growing cold in the cup."Not hungry?" He leaned back in his chair and presented himself as an embodiment of casual authority, his one arm resting over the backrest of the chair and the other — on the table.I moved the raspberry on my plate with the tines of my fork. "I don't care.""Eat. It will provide you with more energy to complain and for later."For later? Blaze spoke in riddles as if he thought I was dumb. My shoulders became tense.
Última actualización : 2026-08-11 Leer más