//CLARA//
It was a 50-Shades of Gray kind of morning, the sky heavy with the threat of a downpour. I watched the clouds gather, feeling the weight of the Thurston name sitting like lead in my stomach.
Downstairs, the dining room felt like a courtroom.
Casimir didn't say a word when I walked in, but I felt him. His gaze pinned to me as I moved toward the sideboard. I sat across from him, the steam from my tea acting as a pathetic little smoke screen between us. I wasn't thirsty. I was just trying to remember how to breathe without looking suspicious.
"You are quiet this morning," he said.
"I am thinking about the factory."
He folded his newspaper and set it aside. "Have you found a location yet?"
"Not yet. Oliver is looking at a few sites near the waterfront. We need space for assembly lines, storage, and shipping docks."
"And the manufacturers? Have you found someone to build the machines at scale?"
