Callie’s POV
“You’re done for the day?”
Britta’s voice cut through the mental fog I was wading through as I trudged back into the kitchen, my cart rattling over the threshold.
“West Wing is finished,” I said, parking the cart in its designated bay. “Vents are clear. Dust is…managed.”
Britta looked up from her ledger, her sharp eyes scanning my face. “You look pale, child. Did the young masters give you trouble?”
“No,” I lied quickly, the memory of Nate’s touch, that zap of blue electricity, burning a phantom hole in my palm. “Just… ired. It’s a big house.”
“Go on then,” Britta said, waving a hand dismissively. “The fog is getting worse. Best you get down the mountain before the roads disappear entirely.”
I grabbed my coat and nodded. “See you tomorrow, Britta.”
As I stepped out of
