He sighs. “Crowley, Wellbelove, there must be a better way to get your parents’ attention.” “What?” “Nothing,” he says, walking ahead. “Baz, I thought—I thought you might need someone to talk to.” “Nope, I’m good.” “But—” He stops and sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Look . . . Agatha. We both know that whatever you and Snow are squabbling about, you’ll soon work it out and be back to your golden destiny. Don’t complicate it.” “But we’re not—” Baz has started walking again. He’s limping a little. Maybe that’s why he isn’t playing football. I keep following him. “Maybe I don’t want a golden destiny,”
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