The mansion was so quiet my footsteps echoed off the marble like gunshots. But the faint smell of coffee drifting from downstairs? That was the only thing keeping me from turning around and crawling back into bed.
"I hope this walk ends with caffeine," I said, following him. "If not, I might start screaming. Fair warning, I'm very loud when I scream."
Enzo threw me a look over his shoulder, half-amused. "Relax. Kitchen's this way. I told them to make something decent for you."
"'Decent' sounds suspiciously like prison food. Like gruel. Or mystery meat." I rebutted.
He smirked. "Waffles and pancakes with caramel drizzle and coffee sound like prison food to you?"
I stopped walking. "Wait… you're serious? That's not a joke? You're not about to lead me to a bowl of sad oatmeal?"
"Dead se
