ILIANA'S POV
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"Just--" Blank. Think Iliana. "I picked you up," he shrugs, and I nod, barely acknowledging what he said as we stride over to their table. My mother's perfectly manicured nails tap against the table surface, her shoulders square. The intensity of her deadly stare has tension wrapping around my spine, feeling like it's being rung out like a towel. Breathe, or she will know. My gaze flicks over to dad, his face void of any emotion. Not even joy at the sight of me. My fingers clutches Drystan's hand tighter, my throat closing as I force a smile.
"Good morning," I beam, letting go of Drystan and move around the table, bending my knees as I hug my parents, throwing an arm over each of their shoulders. "Morning," My mother's intrusive tone drags. A bead of sweat trickles down
