Nervously, filled with the wary apprehension of another outburst and quite unable to look at the chilling gaze of the two siblings, I take my seat beside Valerian. There is an awkward silence that descends across the room as tensions settle to a simmering unease, and across the room, Nora looks as if she could murder a man.
Perhaps she could.
The last to take his seat is Alastor, dropping down the other side of Valerian and smiling wanly, as though to say:
"It will be alright."
But another glance over to Nora, who practically prickles with spite, and I find my mind is not so easily reassured.
On the seat next to me, Tarquin leans over, tapping my hand fondly, winking slyly as he whispers into a cupped hand:
"Don't mind Nora, she is just jealous you got to stay in Valerian's room last night," he chuckles, before pouring me out a cup of tea. Slinking my fingers around the handle of the cup, I take it with a grateful look, hoping to hide my blush under the steam of the tea.
