CHAPTER TWO
The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, but it did little to warm the kitchen. Amara sat stiffly at the breakfast table, spoon hovering over her cereal. She kept stealing glances at Jace, who leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, half-listening to the news on the small kitchen TV.
“Morning,” she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else.
Jace didn’t respond. Not immediately. He took a sip of his coffee and smirked, eyes narrowing. “Morning,” he said finally, his tone slow and deliberate, like he was weighing her reaction.
Amara rolled her eyes. “Could you not sound so smug? It’s breakfast. Not a battlefield.”
He chuckled, a low, lazy sound. “Battlefield? Please. You’re the one glaring at me like I killed your puppy.”
“I am not glaring,” she sna
