“Where’s the newspaper?”
I’m eating breakfast downstairs. Or trying to, anyway. I can barely stomach it. Ansel’s rage-a-holic behavior has everyone jumpy.
“Um, I’m not sure, sir.”
I watch as Charles edges the paper further behind his back. The rest of the staff has gone silent.
Ansel whips forward and yanks for the paper Charles is clutching, jerking him almost off balance.
“Hey,” I shout, standing up. Charles is trembling. I rush to check on him, feeling sick inside.
“Stay out of it,” Ansel warns, his eyes a menacing yellow.
Even Ada pulses with fury. My fingers become sharpened claws, and she’s ready to make a move, but Ansel’s staring at the newspaper in shock. I turn to Charles and hug him tightly.
“I’m okay,” he whispers.
I’m not okay.
