SLOANE POV
The week passed in a blur.
The first official formal breakfast since I got here was a disaster from the start. Five forks sat to the left of my plate, looking important and intimidating. I looked at the long table, the morning sunlight, and Mrs. Albright. She stood nearby, looking like she had seen many people fail at this table before. I tried to tell myself I could handle some silverware.
But the truth was, I had never dealt with anything like this. I grew up in Millhaven, Ohio, eating at a cheap kitchen table. We never cared about which fork to use.
Caelan sat at the end of the table with a newspaper. He acted like he was reading, but I knew he was watching me. Another man I didn't know had made himself at home, buttering a roll. He smiled at me like he was excited to watch me struggle.
I picked up the first fork, put it back, and tried another one.
"That's the fish fork," the man said, reaching for the coffee.
"There's going to be fish?" I asked.
