Amara blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
Her father, seated at the head of the long, intimidating dining table, gave her a look as if she had just asked the dumbest question in the world. "You'll be in charge of Elara's career now."
As those words hit her, Amara stopped mid-bite, her fork hovering in the air with a piece of perfectly grilled steak. The smell of butter and rosemary from the meat wafted into her nose, but it did little to soothe her nerves. Not when her parents had just casually tossed her into the lion's den.
"Wait. Hold up," Amara finally said, lowering her fork and pointing it toward her father like a weapon. "You're saying I have to manage Elara? The same Elara who probably dreams about setting me on fire?"
Her father, ever calm in the face of her impending breakdown, nodded. "Correct."
