"Could someone please tell me what all of you are doing here?"
Mei's voice rang through. She sat perched on an ornate armchair in the living room like a queen surveying her court, her posture ramrod straight and her hands folded primly in her lap. The book she'd been reading—some leather-bound volume that looked older than any of us—rested on the chair's arm.
"Why are you asking?" Christopher asked, claiming a spot on the sofa a bit tired. He almost collapsed into the cushions, leaning back with an exhausted sigh.
"Maybe because this is my house?" Mei replied.
"Nope, this house actually belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Sharp," Cindy countered cheerfully, holding up what appeared to be an old piece of correspondence. She shook it gently, sending a small cloud of dust particles through the air. Her smile was almost triumphant as she waved the evidence.
