Jefferson's POV
A reluctant smile pulled at the corner of my mouth as Cathrine threw herself into another exaggerated performance. She spun around dramatically, arms flailing as she pretended to be some cartoon character I couldn't identify. When she hopped awkwardly and shook her head in theatrical frustration, I almost forgot where we were.
"Seriously? Jumping frogs? That's obviously Short," she laughed, dropping to the concrete floor across from me. Sweat dampened her hair against her forehead, her face flushed from the effort, but her eyes held a light that somehow kept me from spiraling into darker thoughts. "You know what your problem is? You're terrible at this game, Jefferson. And I've noticed something else - you haven't taken a single turn."
