The scent of coffee and burnt toast dragged Selene from a sleep that felt like it had lasted five minutes. She groaned, burying her face in her pillow. The phantom warmth of Caleb’s watchful gaze had faded, replaced by the dull, gritty reality of a school morning. Eighteen. The birthday had dawned with the subtlety of a freight train. There was no magical surge of power, just a profound and stubborn exhaustion that seemed to have seeped into her bones.
Downstairs, the symphony of domestic chaos was already in full swing. She could hear the clatter of plates, the aggressive hiss of the stove, and her brothers.
“I called the last piece of bacon!”
“You did not, you liar. I had my eye on it.”
“Your eye doesn’t get dibs, Jakob, your fork does. And your fork is empty.”
“You want to go, Eli?
