First message
The office door clicks shut behind me, and the first thing I see is my daughter—scowling, fists tucked in her sleeves like I wouldn’t notice the damage. Typical. Then my gaze shifts to the other kid. Split lip, bloodied knuckles, a glare sharp enough to cut. I should see nothing but trouble. Instead, I pause. Even beat-up, she’s… striking. Too much fire in her eyes for me to ignore, and that unsettles me more than it should.