Phoebe's POV
After two rounds of that mind-numbing game, I finally shook off the initial shock. Glancing up, I spotted Alistair and Rogers still stationed by the door like a pair of sentries.
They remained frozen in position, their gazes locked on Harold's sleeping form. I massaged my temples, exhaustion creeping in as the late hour caught up with me.
Rogers, ever the observant one, quickly grabbed two blankets and approached me with silent efficiency—clearly trying to earn brownie points. "Miss Hale."
I stared at the blankets Rogers held out. Words escaped me for a moment. Great. So I'm just some glorified babysitting service now.
Taking the blankets, I threw one over Harold with zero finesse.
My careless toss sent the fabric straight over his head like a makeshift hood.
Lucky for me, it slipped down naturally, finding its proper position. Even with that disturbance, Harold merely creased his brow slightly without stirring. Alistair and Rogers exhaled in obvious relief.
