80

ROXANNE POV

I sat at the long dining table between Damien and Angelina, still a little drowsy and sore, but holding onto the comfort of the warm coffee in my hands.

The morning sun filtered through the tall windows and breakfast was spread across the table which Mrs. Jones had put together: scrambled eggs with herbs, buttery toast, fluffy pancakes stacked with syrup, fresh-cut fruit in a glass bowl, and warm sausage links that still sizzled slightly when you touched them.

Angelina was already on her second pancake, swinging her legs under the chair, with her cheeks puffed as she chewed like a chipmunk.

Across from me, Damien was buttering toast with his usual focus, like breakfast was a negotiation and the knife needed to be perfectly balanced.

Mrs. Jones hovered not too far away with a notepad in hand, waiting like a patient general taking notes before a mission.

"So," Angelina said between bites, tapping her fork against her empty plate, "I've been thinking..."

That tone i