"I don't know," Seph said. "Maybe it was just fist-day jitters that caused my face to kiss the floor."
"Maybe." Frowning, I crossed to my trunk at the foot of the bed. From underneath a pile of black dresses, I fished out the engraved dagger protected in its brown leather sheath. Leo gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday, and it had Biscuit etched in perfect script along the blade. His nickname for me.
"Remember when you weren't such a weirdo for carbs, Biscuit? Those were the good old day."
Day, singular, because apparently I wasn't a weirdo for carbs for a very short amount of time. That was just his saying. He was the one who was a weirdo, always teasing me, always trying to make me laugh with how much of a dork he was.
Crafted from the sharpest steel, the dagger cut like everyt
