The kitchen smelled like syrup and bacon, warm and heavy in the morning haze. Everything felt groggy, like the house itself hadn’t slept.
Sage leaned against the counter in black leggings and a bright tank top, her flannel tied around her waist. Cozy, fall vibes.
I was already in my running gear—athletic tank, shorts, tennis shoes. Same stuff I wore back home before my mother died, when running every day was the only way to quiet my head. Tyler padded around shirtless in plaid pajama pants, hair wild and unruly like he’d fought a storm in his sleep. Alaric sat at the table in a plain T-shirt and dark pants, looking far more put together than the rest of us.
“I think I need to go for a run or something,” I said finally, fiddling with the headphones plugged into the phone Alaric had given
