Chapter 4: At Zoe’s Doorstep

I went back to my little Foster house, feeling dejected—only to find a crowd gathered at my door.

My heart skipped a beat.

What now? Isn’t it enough that they’ve taken my land, drunk my water, and used my Big Ben? Do they want to take my house too? This is too much. Really, way too much.

I clutched the doorknob, pulse racing, imagining the worst: a flash mob ready to post about invading my privacy or maybe the mayor with a TV crew about to turn my home into some kind of reality show spectacle.

The porch creaked under the weight of too many boots. Someone’s cologne mixed with the smell of fried chicken from the food truck down the street.