A few minutes passed, and the dining hall soon buzzed to life. Forks clinked against plates and voices rose in animated conversations. I turned to Hestia, her expression blank as ever, like an impenetrable wall of calm. It was obviously her coping mechanism.
"Mrs. Griffin," I began carefully, breaking the silence between us.
"Luna, please," she interrupted, offering a faint smile. “Call me Hestia.”
“Then you must call me Greta. We’re family, after all.”
“Greta, then.” She nodded slowly, as though weighing the name on her tongue. Her gaze sharpened just a little. “My son was right—you are quite different from most women.”
I tilted my head playfully, though her words sat uncomfortably in my chest. “I’m glad he noticed. What exactly did he say about me?”
“Nothing bad, I assure you
