Mornings in Oregon always started with rain that sounded polite.Not Latin rain, the kind that came down like it was here to contest a will. The rain here tapped softly against the huge kitchen windows, like it was asking permission first.I was already at the stove before the sun had fully woken up, flipping arepas and occasionally glancing at the laptop open on the island. My Northlake inbox was full, as usual. Claire had sent the final agenda. Ethan had sent a revised attendee list. Tania had sent three messages, all with the same energy:(Boss, please don’t kill anyone if they ask for a scope change at the start of the meeting.)I poured eggs into the pan, took a sip of coffee, and looked around my kitchen, which, for once, actually felt like home again.Not a bunker.Not a guard post.Home.Bianna came down first, still wearing an oversized gray zip-up hoodie with sunglasses pushed up on her head. She yawned, opened the fridge, and pulled out Greek yogurt like it was one of her co
Ler mais