Sylas scoffed from the hallway.
“I told the guy he couldn’t talk to my family like trash.”
Mr. Gideon turned his head very slowly.
“Did that strategy keep a roof over their heads?”
Sylas’s jaw tightened.
My mother pointed at Mr. Gideon. “I don’t know who you think you are, but this is a family matter.”
“No,” he said. “This is my entryway.”
The room went silent.
I had never loved him more.
The toddler cried harder.
Elowen looked like she might collapse right onto the rug.
The baby had one fist tangled in her hair.
Wren just stood there, still holding that rabbit.
My anger rose hot and fast.
Not at the children.
Never at the children.
At the adults who kept building fires and then acting shocked when smoke filled the room.
“What are you doing here?” I asked my mother.
She looked genuinely offended.
