“You wouldn’t want me anyway, if it weren’t for the whole biology thing. I’m a mess,” I say, subdued, barely audible. He hears me, though. “Oh, yeah. You are.” “Hey.” My chin juts out. “I can say it. You shouldn’t.” “Serena, you’re a half-Human Were who admits to being a serial liar, doesn’t know how electricity works, and is undoubtedly swimming in complex PTSD. Believe me, a toddler can say it.”
