Athena's mocking laughter caused chills to break out on Florence's skin—chills that had nothing to do with the cold that came with the unending rain.
She looked at her granddaughter sadly, understanding what the latter was feeling, knowing the bitterness sinking its roots afresh in her, and also knowing the consequences of letting that plant grow.
Florence inhaled deeply, her left fist tightening at her side. She wouldn't let that happen. Not to her granddaughter.
Her decision to save Athena from herself didn't waver even when the latter stopped the guards from reaching out to Ewan, who lay as if dead on the wet ground.
Florence's hands itched to touch the male who had become akin to a son to her. Her throat tightened, but Athena's voice cut sharply through the air.
"You chose me, Grandfather. That starts now."
