FELON

GINGER: The steam from the food curls into the air, dancing above the plate that sits in front of me. Roasted chicken, steamed vegetables, and a slice of buttered bread stare back at me. The smell should comfort me, because it’s the kind of meal Mum made when I was sick or had a bad day at school. But here, in this strange, dim-lit dining room, nothing feels right. The pain from getting hit from behind has stopped, but the one in my heart is still fresh as I sit stiffly across from my father, Logan Orbblood. He hasn’t chained me. Hasn’t beaten me. Hasn’t even raised his voice since we arrived. He just cooked, gave me a cold compress for the wound he inflicted on the back of my head, and gave me food. He set the table peacefully like it is one big father and daughter reunion, and I am not the girl he says he will kill. It is like the man who sent those letters and the one standing before me are entirely different people. I want to know why he is doing this, and why he is messing with my