Chapter Thirty-Two: Paper Cuts
Isabelle picked up the first folder and squinted at the photo of a smiling, middle-aged woman with too-perfect handwriting.
"Nope," she whispered, dropping it aside. "Looks like she'd poison tea with a smile."
Her fingers moved quickly, flipping through another CV, and another. She wanted people she could trust, especially with the twins.
Not some perfect liars, not snake-tongued charmers who folded at the sight of power. She needed loyalty. And maybe kindness, too.
She reached for her tea and took a sip, still lukewarm. Her eyes looked at the ceiling, where she imagined the twins were asleep or talking to each other through thoughts—probably saying things she wasn't supposed to hear.
'Do you think she'll make us eat spinach again?' Aron's voice rang faintly in her head.
'Only if she's mad. If she's mad, we're doomed,' whispered Aurora.
Isabelle's lip twitched. 'You're not doomed. I heard that.'
Then giggles again.
