Wrong Mrs. Vale
Alora's Pov
"Chris!" I hiss as my body stiffens under the sharp, blinding spike of agony shooting up my heel.
Hopping on one foot and clutching my toes, I glare down at the culprit. It's the jagged, green plastic dinosaur. Of course, it had to be the one toy designed like a medieval weapon.
“Fantastic,” I mutter, teeth clenched. “Nothing says career fulfilment like being taken out by a seven-year-old’s weaponized Lego collection.”
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