The woman now stared at her son, who looked like he would throw her out of the room at any moment. Riven was not like this; he was not so easily vexed, not until he turned fourteen. For some odd reason, he had turned slightly provocative and easy to anger on his fourteenth birthday when things didn't go his way.
"I thought it was the older sister whom you—" Mrs. Perkins began to say, only to stop when she heard a feral groan from Riven. Her head snapped up to look at him, only to see him running his hands over his hair, ruffling it, with a strange gleam in his eyes.
"You are always one to think after the act is done," Mr. Hathor said quietly, almost too quietly, and then he clicked his tongue, straightening the rough edges of the cheque note. His anger bubbled over as he thrust the note back into his mother's hands, saying leisurely,
