Zale’s POV
“You called to see me?” I ask as I walk into the tea room of my aunt to see that Leona is already sitting with her. I feel a chill run through me, as though I'm being cornered by something.
“Zale, take a seat.” I narrow my eyes at her.
“I think I’d prefer to stand.” It's meant as a light-hearted statement, but neither of the women in the room shifted from their serious expression. “Did someone die?”
“Stop joking around. This is serious,” Sierra says, to which I feel my mood drop tremendously.
“And what exactly is ‘this’?” I ask, referring to the situation around us. Leona hadn’t said anything to me since I had entered the room; instead, she sat with her hands folded in her legs and her eyes steadily on them.
“Leona has a schedule in Chicago this coming week,” Sierra says. “Wouldn’t you like to accompany her?”
