Daria’s POV

Since the border fight, Harriet had been quiet; the silence had never sat well with her. She tended to ask questions, strike spells, or hum in a low-key practising small portions of magic. This morning, however, she sat up on the edge of her bed with her shoulders hunkered and her hands knotted up in her laps, gazing at the floor as though it had personally offended her. I saw immediately, just like mothers do all the time, although they lie that they do not.

Talk to me, I thought, placing a bowl of warm water on the little table beside her. What the devil is in that...