Isabella snapped out of her thoughts.
She turned slowly, eyes narrowing. "Since you can do that," she said coolly, "why didn't you simply do it earlier?"
"I simply watched over Ophelia like you told me to," Cyrus said, his voice calm as ever, as if he were discussing the weather and not, say, guarding a bouncing bundle of chaos in soft braids.
Isabella let out a long sigh, the kind that came from the soles of her feet. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's not what I meant—ugh, never mind." Her shoulders slumped. "I don't have the emotional bandwidth for another soap opera scene today."
"No need," she said instead, brushing past both of them with a hand wave. "I should check on the well."
But before she took more than three steps, Ophelia paused and raised her nose dramatically to the air like a curious bunny. She sniffed. Once. Twice.
"What's that sweet scent?" she asked with all the innocence of a wide-eyed toddler discovering chocolate for the first time.
