Scar's head wasn't right and hadn't been since that morning. Before work, he'd met Purple's mother, Margaret, and she'd come with no room for him to refuse.
Apology after apology, one running into the next, all of it for the trouble her daughter had caused him. She'd nearly dropped to her knees before he stopped her. That image alone had been following him around all day.
But the exhaustion of it wasn't what sat with him. Something else did.
Margaret had looked worn out, with fatigued eyes, a posture that had given up holding itself straight, and deep dark circles. Like she hadn't slept in a long time and had stopped expecting to.
It didn't add up. Purple's mother, of all people, wearing that kind of exhaustion? Scar wasn't the type to let things like that slide past him, not when it came to mothers. He'd cared too much about his own.
The Vey family had risen. They had power and everything that was supposed to make life easier. So what was still grinding that poor woman down?
