You muttered something under your breath when she told you to put your phone away.

Emily stopped in the middle of buttering toast and turned around, slow and controlled.

"What did you just say?"

You tried to brush it off like she didn’t hear you, but she put the knife down and crossed her arms.

"I work fifty hours a week dealing with murderers and psychopaths. The least I expect is to not be talked to like I’m your enemy at the breakfast table."

She pointed at the chair.

"Sit. Down. We’re going to have a conversation like two humans and not two animals in a cage match. And if you roll your eyes one more time, I’m taking the phone and the Wi-Fi."