"Ah, Marta, do you need to go to the bathroom?
Marta's expression darkened slightly at the question. Irritation turned to hate and then loathing. She clenched her jaw for a moment before responding tersely, "No, I don't need to go to the bathroom."
"Are you sure? If you need my help, just ask."
"I don't."
Elena frowned and nodded. From the corner of her eye, Marta glared at her.
Elena Petrovna…she was a forty-year old housewife. What could she possibly know? What could she understand? She gave up on the Heavenly Games the instant she saw danger and relegated herself as a baker while Marta kept pushing. Every day, she trained and practiced. On canoes, in the forest, almost every waking day, she fought.
Her temper flared—
"Ugh…!"
