left his mother’s face. He thought he saw something flicker there. Guilt? Uncertainty? Fear? Whatever it was, it was soon gone. “So this is what you’ve become,” she replied, making no move towards the exit. Her voice was thick with disgust. “So small. So obsessed with your minuscule concerns. Incapable of looking beyond your own hurt feelings. A perfect anskáya. But you are my son, too. You’re made for better things than this. You have a heritage and a destiny far greater than anything you could imagine. All you need to do is come with me and claim it.” Dylan barked a sharp, brittle laugh. “I have no idea what you just called me,” he said, throwing up his hands, “and I don’t really care. Dad was right. You are crazy. Completely freaking insane.” Dylan knew he was being extreme, but he finally got the reaction he wanted. Cynthia’s expression hardened in anger, and Dylan pressed on. “I think I could throw you out by hand if I wanted to–” Cynthia snorted “–but it seems pointless, since I don’t know how you got in in the first place, so you’d probably be able to get back. So I’ll be the one to leave. Stay as long as you like, I don’t care. If you’re here when Roger gets home, though, he’ll probably call the cops on you, so keep that in mind.” Dylan moved towards the door, feeling oddly light, as though he had achieved some kind of cosmic balance,
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