MILICENT
“She likes it,” Zayne muttered, rubbing the back of his head with a pout that didn’t fool anybody. “She tolerates it,” I corrected, though my lips were tugging at a smile I couldn’t fight.
Mrs. D was pulling vegetables out of her basket, moving around the kitchen like she’d memorized every inch of it, when she cleared her throat. “Oh, before I forget, your father sent word.”
Just like that, the air in the room dropped below 0. Xander stiffened against the fridge, his playful mask slipping. Zayne stopped fiddling with the spatula and I watched his jaw work.
“What word?” Zayne asked, his tone sharper than before. So sharp I almost shivered. Mrs. D glanced at them both. “He wants you at the pack house this weekend. For his birthday celebration.”
Silence.
I glanced between the
