POV: Fiona
I was standing at the kitchen island, pouring hot water over a tea bag. The fragrant steam of Earl Grey and bergamot rose in the chilled air.
Then the front doors of the mansion echoed open. The sound of multiple footsteps filled the foyer. I didn't look up. I kept my eyes focused on the swirling amber liquid in my mug, watching the heat pull the color from the leaves.
"Put her bags in the East Wing," Maxwell’s voice carried through the hallway. It sounded strained, with tight exhaustion. "The room directly across from the library."
"Oh, Maxwell, I'm still just so shaken up," a high, overly dramatic voice whimpered.
"I keep seeing the broken glass every time I close my eyes."
My hand holding the handle of the kettle, didn't even tremble. I carefully kept the kettle back
