I was walking a step or two behind Marcel, following him closely so that I wouldn’t find myself lost again, since I had a habit of doing that around here—not that I could help it. We were on our way to the dining room again—it felt like that was the only place that I was ever allowed to go, other than my bedroom—and I was able to pick up on the determination in Marcel’s stride as he walked, and even without knowing what was going through his mind at this moment, I knew that there were going to be shots fired during this lunch.
And honestly, I didn’t really want any part of it.
There was always one thing or another with these people, and for some reason, they always waited until they were together at the dining table before they decided to bring it up. It was as if the dining room was t
