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GLYNDON I stare at the scene, dumbfounded. You know that moment when you freeze up and have no idea whether moving or even breathing is okay? Actually, screw it. The prominent emotion that tears through my chest isn’t feeling like a third wheel or being slammed in the face by PDA—it’s something worse. A burst of energy slashes through my veins so similar to…rage. I swear I’m not the jealous type. In secondary school, I found my boyfriend making out with my classmate and just closed the door and broke up with him via text. I don’t feel any resentment toward Bran for being Mum’s favorite, for being the vessel of her talent. Nor for the fact that she goes the extra mile in her attempts to protect him from Lan. I also have no resentment toward Lan for getting all the attention in our family. Or toward Ava for looking like a goddess and being perfect at everything she does. Or Cecily for being the most balanced human I know. In short, I don’t feel jealous. So why the hell do I feel the need