Wren

It’s been two weeks since that fiasco. Safe to say Ezra and I have gone back to being very unfriendly. Maliciously so.

“Chirp!” Raymond walks over to where I’m seated beside Torch, munching on a Pringle. He hands me a flask. “Quincy sent you some chicken soup.”

My smile is wide, the scent making my tastebuds water. “Really? That’s so sweet of her, she knows I’d rather soon die of starvation.”

“You’re not starving.” Ray laughs. “I’d say you’ve put on some ...