Yelena stood there, arms folded, a perfectly calm expression painted across her face like she was watching someone do a mildly risky circus act and not her own daughter inching closer to death.
But inside?...Inside she was screaming.
In all honesty, even if her face looked like stone, her insides were boiling like a kettle forgotten on the stove.
It wasn't just irritation, it was that specific kind of frustration you only felt when your beloved child, who inherited both your blood and your insanity, was doing something absolutely reckless again.
And the worst part?...Mika, the one person who was supposed to ground her daughter, the one person she trusted more than anyone, was just standing there in front of her like this was a casual Tuesday.
This wasn't anything new.
