The apartment reeked of burnt toast. Not just a whiff—burnt. Like smoke alarms were one breath away from screaming. But nobody moved to fix it. Not Camille. Not Ellie, who was kicking her legs at the table and humming like everything was normal. The morning sun sliced through the cracked blinds, streaking gold across the frayed carpet and a sticky patch she forgot to clean yesterday.
Camille flipped the last pancake, fingers trembling, the spatula slipping and slapping batter onto the burner. Flour stuck to her hoodie. And to her cheeks, probably. She hadn’t looked in the mirror. Didn’t want to.
Ellie giggled behind her. That high, bright kind of laugh kids make when they think nothing bad could ever touch them. Her unicorn backpack sat ready by the door, zipper half-open, glitter pen po
