DAMIEN 

Zinna stormed into my office like she owned the place—which, to be fair, she kind of did. She didn’t even knock. Typical. I already knew where this was going. 

“What do you want, Zinna?” I asked, leaning back in my chair, pretending to be calm even though I could already feel a headache forming. 

She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing in that bossy, older-sister-who-thinks-she’s-the-boss way. She kept forgetting the fact that I was older than her... by six years, ...