"Down now!" Thalina scolded, pointing an accusatory finger at the floating book.
The book, in all its smug glory, drifted downward at a maddeningly slow pace, as if testing how far it could push her patience.
Was this thing possessed by mischief itself? Had it always been like this, and she was only just noticing?
A firm knock on the door jolted her from her spiraling thoughts.
"I'm coming!" she called out, her voice a mix of panic and frustration as she snatched the now-innocent-looking book and shoved it under the bed.
It thumped against the floor with an almost offended plop.
Straightening her skirt and shaking off any lingering suspicion, she opened the door—only to be met with the ever-annoying presence of Tharion.
He stood there with his arms crossed, his white mane-like hair tousled, his sharp blue eyes narrowing in scrutiny.
"Who were you talking to?"
Thalina barely batted an eyelash. "I like talking to myself sometimes."
