"What do you think of Conan?" I asked Elder Miranda as she poured herself a cup of tea in the sitting room. Her hand didn't even falter before she made a face.
"I don't approve of him."
I blinked. "He's perfect!" How could she not see it? When Conan looked at you, even with those tired, sarcastic eyes—he was brilliant. Warm. Real.
"Really?" she said, stirring her tea with a clink. "What's your definition of perfect, Levi?"
"Elder Miranda—"
"You're young and haven't seen much of this world," she said gently, almost like she was sorry for me. "You don't have to settle on some omega when there are better options out there."
"I'm not settling on anything," I said flatly.
She patted my head like I was still five years old throwing a tantrum over naptime. "You don't know what you're talking about."
