The sound of hushed voices outside my bedroom door pulls me from sleep. I can hear my mother's voice, strained and emotional, mixing with my father's deeper tones. Something's wrong. The way they're talking—urgent, secretive—sends an uncomfortable chill through me.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through my disheveled hair. The digital clock on my nightstand glows 7:23 AM. Too early for whatever drama is unfolding outside my door. But the tension in their voices is impossible to ignore.
What now? I think, frustrated. First, I lose the race to some mysterious rider who came out of nowhere. Then Paxton nearly gets us both killed with his insane stunt. Now my parents are having some kind of crisis meeting outside my room like I'm still a child who can't handle adult
