Nevara
The next morning began with my mate watching me like I was personally responsible for every medical emergency that had ever existed.
I buttered a piece of toast.
He watched.
I poured myself a glass of juice.
He watched.
I sat down.
He looked marginally less concerned.
“You’re hovering,” I informed him.
“I am observing.”
“You’re hovering with better vocabulary.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“I’ll accept that.”
Breakfast had been unusually quiet. The boys were already arguing over whether dragons or bears would win in a fight, a conversation my father had somehow turned into an educational debate involving claws, bite force, and tactical advantages.
My mother simply sipped her tea like this was a perfectly normal breakfast conversation.
Elena looked remarkably ente
