Zara rested her head against his shoulder and blinked at me over it, slow and deliberate. Taunting.
I was dabbing antiseptic on the wound when Morton came back.
His eyes caught the streak of blood on my arm. A flicker of guilt crossed his face, and his voice softened by a fraction.
"Sorry. I lost my temper. Let me help you with that."
"No need," I said flatly. "I can handle it myself."
The cotton swab in Morton's hand froze in midair. His expression darkened.
"Then again, you started it, didn't you? Zara came here to smooth things over so we wouldn't fight, and this is how you treat her? How petty can you be?"
I looked him dead in the eye. "I told you I never touched her. She was putting on an act. Do you believe me?"
Morton froze for a second, then let out a derisive laugh. "I trust Zara's character."
The answer I'd expected. I tugged at the corner of my mouth and went back to applying ointment to my bruises.
My indifference made Morton feel ignored, and his temper flared instantly.
"Viola, what gives you the right to give me attitude? Haven't I done enough for you lately?"
I looked at his self-righteous expression and almost laughed.