"Marion?" Debra rubbed her sleepy eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall.

It was already 12:30. The incident last night had drained her energy, causing her to sleep in.

She pushed open the bedroom door and walked out. Downstairs, Marion was cooking in the kitchen.

The others still seemed to be asleep. Debra spoke up. "Your injury hasn't healed yet, and you're already rushing to make me lunch?"

Marion came out holding a pot. "Go rest a little longer. The other dish will be ready soon."

Debra came down the stairs and flopped into his arms. Her exhaustion instantly melted away.

"I'm so tired. Get a drumstick for me," she murmured.

"Sure," Marion agreed, patting her head.

out of his room, sniffing the air. "Who's cooking chicken soup? It

awkward, he looked up at the ceiling and whistled, "Uh,

the kitchen," said Ivan, who had

Marion refused without

softer as he told Debra, "Wait on the sofa. Lunch will

nodded, glancing

diligently focused on his cleaning. It looked like he didn't know

began to doubt

Ivan looked no different from other teenagers. It was hard to

all or

house, looking haggard from a long

Houston, we didn't find the three missing socialites or those

"What about Frederic?"

"Who?"

person who saved

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Comments ()

0/255