...Just then, a very out-of-breath intern skidded into the hallway, tripping slightly on the Persian rug and holding what looked suspiciously like a velvet scroll tied with a gold ribbon and the tears of their ancestors.
"Ms. Summers!" the intern wheezed, eyes wide with that glazed-over panic only unpaid labor could produce. "The swans have unionized. One of them bit the florist. And Rita's TikTok live just hit 2.7 million views. She's juggling macarons topless and talking about her 'escape from toxic pastel tyranny.' Also, uh…" He gulped. "There's a drone circling the koi pond. It has your face on it."
"Whose face?" Ava asked, because in this house, that was always a valid question.
"Yours. But... wearing Eva's mascara."
Zach let out a low whistle. "That's either high art or cyberbullying. Could go either way."
"Where is security?!" Rafaela snapped.
"Still meditating," the intern whispered. "They said they'd manifest order soon."
