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The rattling of the glass as I set it down draws his attention to my shaking hands. Reaching across the table, I rest my hand halfway between us. Not touching him, but reaching for him just the same. "I'm not angry. Or mad. I-I'm... I'm hollow. Which is worse?" I ask him, and myself. "And there's something you need to know—"

An alarm dings from the other room, sending me flying off the chair. The plates and silverware rattle as my knees slam the underside of the table.

"Whoa. It’s okay. I know who it is. This place is safer than a damn bank vault. It's why Mac and the boys were okay leaving you here with only me to protect you."

"Who is it?" Not really that excited about another stranger. Who knows who that dipshit Jace will send to do his dirty work.

"Right, that." His hand comes up and smooths over the top of his hair. "I thought you'd like being you again, so I invited someone over. Not just someone, my sister. My youngest sister. I told her to play nice, but she's blunt as hell. Don't take offense to anything she says. Hell, this might be a bad idea. I'll tell her to turn around—"

"You ramble, you know that?" I say with a small smile, loving this piece of him. "When you're nervous."

His hand slides from his hair and grips the back of his neck. "Yeah I know." Two car doors slam shut outside, making us both turn. "Do. Not. Run." He points to my previous escape route with a hard stare. "I'll puke egg on you if you make me chase you down again this soon after eating."

A loud female voice says something, making him laugh when he opens the door and steps out to the porch. Everything tells me to run, but the growing curiosity of meeting his sister, one of the women I've heard so much about, has me staying put. Why in the world would he invite her over?

Before I can run through the various possibilities, the door swings open and a young girl in florescent pink leggings with purple socks pulled up her shins and a black T-shirt tied in a knot at her waist walks through.

Her smile falls the second she sees me. Self-consciously, I stuff my hands into my pockets and look anywhere other than the tiny force of nature who just entered the room.

"You don't look like Princess Poppy," she states.

What the...?