"Athena, down!" Old Mr. Thorne whisper-yelled, aghast when his granddaughter attempted to just stroll past the bend, toward the hall used for the party.
Athena, battling with sharp rage, huffed but sank down, her knees almost touching the gravel, close to her grandfather, whom she thought was sturdier than he looked. Her lips twisted with frustration as she clenched her jaw.
"You can't act out in rage, Athena… that seems to be a flaw to work on… the shootout is still going on, and you are not bulletproof."
And neither are our guests, Athena thought worriedly, her eyes narrowing with a mix of fear and fury.
As much as she had tried to make the party go without upheaval, it had still happened, and it grated on her nerves so much. Her kids were there! Everyone—including her friends!
"What do we do?" she asked tensely, turning to her grandfather, who was hunkered low like she was, peering at the hall in question. There was no one outside, not even servants.