Scout’s POV
"So, Scout, what do you like most about my son?"
The question dropped into the room like an anchor, heavy and sudden, freezing my fingers right against the polished silver of my fork. I did not look up immediately. Instead, I stared at my plate, watching the butter melt over a mountain of golden potatoes until the yellow pools ran into the dark juices of the roasted venison. My stomach did not just knot. It shrivelled into a tight, hard fist.
"What I like most?" I mumbled, the words tasting like dry flour as I tried to drag them past my teeth.
"Yes," Luna Paisley said, her voice dropping an octave into something that sounded dangerously like a trap. "Surely something comes to mind."
Across the expanse of the dark oak table, Nixon did not move. He sat perfectly still, his t
