FRIDAY
Rowan arrived at six p.m., her ancient Honda Civic crunching up the gravel drive like it was personally offended by the terrain.
I watched from the porch, Fao standing behind me — human, clothed in Trevor's old clothes that still didn't fit right, and visibly tense. We'd need to get him actual clothes at some point. Maybe Rowan would want to take us shopping — she'd probably love dressing him up like a life-sized doll.
"Remember," I told him quietly. "She's my best friend. She's loud, but she means well. No growling."
"No growling," he repeated, though he didn't look happy about it.
The car door flew open and Rowan emerged like a force of nature.
She was shorter than Elowen but somehow took up more space — all wild dark curls that refused to be tamed, warm brown skin, and an e
