Zephyr walked into the dining room, holding a plate of pancakes. It was 1:00 p.m. His mother, Iris, wasn’t home. She had left some pancakes and snacks in the kitchen in case he got hungry.
The house was silent, the sunlight filtering through the windows. He had the place all to himself.
Zephyr sat on a dining chair and picked up his cutlery. As he was about to slice through the pancake, the doorbell rang, followed immediately by a loud, jarring bang on the door.
The pounding continued, its force vibrating through the house, rattling Zephyr’s chest.
Startled, he dropped his fork onto the plate and hurried to the door.
The moment he unlocked it, he froze.
Ryker.
Zephyr’s stomach clenched. Ryker stood at the doorstep, his expression twisted in indignation. Behind him were three other y
