You know, Cassia, I think you might have misunderstood a few things," Minerva murmurs as she examines my ankle.
I don't take my gaze away from the bedroom wall since it would take one peek for her to know that I spent most of last night and this morning crying.
If there's one thing I could do without when I'm already feeling this raw and exposed, it's criticism or, even worse, judgment.
"Is there another break?" I ask her, pointedly ignoring her comment.
I bet Lucian is hanging on every single word downstairs. He probably sent Minerva up with a script so he could continue his game of let's fool Cassia.
Just because he's kept his distance since I hobbled back to the house and showered before going straight to bed, it doesn't mean I trust him. It doesn't mean anything.
"No, it just looks bruised. This is what I feared would happen if you put too much pressure on it too fast," Minerva says mildly. "I bet you didn't even touch the crutches, did you?"
