Curse or no curse, I’m not giving up. I’m going to pay you back in full, and then we never have to see each other again.” My father’s hand clenched, his pale, elegant, claw-like nails shredding the money I’d handed him into confetti. I flinched at the soft sound of ripping paper, but when I looked up again, he wasn’t staring down at me in fury. He just looked sad. So, so sad, like that money had been his heart, and I, not him, was the one who’d torn it to shreds. “Why are you doing this, Opal?” he asked quietly. “Why will you not come home?”
Maybe he does, in his own draconic way, care?
