Amara sat stiffly in her parents' office, feeling like a prisoner about to be interrogated. The room was suffocatingly formal, as usual dark wood paneling, cold leather chairs, and her parents seated behind a massive desk that could probably double as a fortress. Her mother was perfectly composed, her father shuffling through a stack of papers with his usual air of indifference. Amara had no idea what they wanted, but whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
"So," her mother began, her tone deceptively light, "how's the whole… managing Elara's career going?"
Amara blinked, taken off guard by the casual question. Managing Elara's career? That was a joke, right? She wasn't managing anything. She was mostly surviving on sheer dumb luck and pretending she knew what she was doing.
"It's… fine," Amara lied, offering a weak smile. "Everything's going smoothly."
