Minerva slumped forward. Her forehead met wood with a dull thunk. She kept her fist lifted overhead, beating on the door in an even, stubborn rhythm. She might very well be plain, bookish, distracted, and awkward—but she was determined. Determined to be acknowledged, determined to be heard. Determined to protect her sister, at any cost. Open, she willed. Open. Open. Op— The door opened. Swiftly, with a brisk, unforgiving whoosh. “For the love of tits, Thorne. Can’t it wait for—” “Ack.” Caught off balance, Minerva stumbled forward. Her fist rapped smartly against—not the door, but a chest. Lord
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