“I might have made a mistake coming here.” “Maybe you did,” Sloane says, evenly. I turn to face her, anger rising all over again. “You don’t think I could do what you do?” Sloane picks up a folded towel, drying her hands with easy grace. “You haven’t put in the time and you haven’t done the work. You want to be a queen and you don’t even speak the language.” “I’m learning as fast as I can,” I hiss. “This isn’t a classroom. There’s no room for mistakes.” “Yet you’ve made a few of your own,” I snap back at her. Sloane doesn’t rise to the bait. Her calm is a steady vibration that fills the room,
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