“Why did you mention your father?” The seven-hundred-year-old witch lowered himself into the seat beside me.
“I don’t know. I’m tired.”
I regretted clueing them into the fact that I wished I could meet my father. Since I’d given him up as Mother’s mystery mission target, I hadn’t given too much away though. But she asked if I’d sensed any people like us, interesting people was her code phrase, every day, and I grew tired of the routine. Couldn’t she trust that I’d tell her if I thought I was in danger? I longed to have friends, friends who were like me. Why would I hide them from her?
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