Arianna
By nine the next morning, Easton’s living room no longer felt like the quiet little sanctuary it had been the night before.
My phone had been buzzing since sunrise, Mara had sent four updates before I finished coffee, and Braxton had called twice to remind me that apparently “several council families wanting private meetings” was not something I could ignore indefinitely just because I had decided I liked hiding under Easton’s blanket.
I disagreed.
Strongly.
Easton stood in the kitchen making coffee while I sat at the counter staring at the list Mara had sent.
Seven families.
Four had requested meetings.
One had declined.
Two hadn’t responded at all.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Easton said.
I didn’t look up.
“What thing?”
“Trying to personally solve an entire poli
