//CLARA//
We ducked into a nearby tea room. The place smelled like stale rosewater and heavy-handed judgment. Casimir's minions parked themselves at the table directly behind us, trying and failing to look like they weren't hanging on every word.
My chaperone, however, wasn't even trying to be subtle. She was currently throwing literal daggers at me with her eyes, her mouth set in a thin, bitter line.
Apparently, Aunt Cornelia is like a virus that's gone airborne. She's multiplied and evolved into a Version 2.0 in chaperon form and I'm pretty sure she's currently trying to infect my entire existence.
"So, let me get this straight," Gary whispered, leaning so far across the table I thought he'd face-plant into the scones. "You read a diary, hit a cliffhanger, and poof? You're the lead in a period drama?"
