“You’re sixteen today,” I called to my sleeping son in a singsong voice. “Wake up, sleepyhead, and come see what I got you for your birthday.”
Popping up, he grinned. “You made me French toast?”
“Yes, but this isn’t your gift.” I laughed and set the tray down on his lap.
Cedric dove into his breakfast. He held out his fork, offering me a bite.
Laughing, I accepted. I stole one of the sliced strawberries and popped it into my mouth. “Yum.”
“Hey,” he cried in mock protest.
I tousled his hair and kissed him on the cheek. “Finish up and get ready. I have made plans to celebrate your birthday. You are no longer a child. The Drygen Legacy will be yours very soon, and with that, all of the responsibilities.”
“Have you heard from him?” His eyes lost their joy.
“Why would you think of him o
