Chapter 212 Acting On Instinct

• Michael
• Emelda moves like an agitated fledgling as she dusts lint from my shoulders. She swats my hand when I reach for my hair, shaking her head and scowling before adjusting a single rogue curl trying to fight against the hold of the hair gel she slathered through my tresses.
• “Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. Don’t bump into anything,” she instructs, stepping back to examine her work–me, in a royal uniform, all of my medals of rank displayed across my chest–and purses her lips.