ROOSEVELT’S POV

Sunday morning smelled like sweet vanilla pancakes and fresh espresso.

I stood at the kitchen island, wiping my damp hands on a dish towel. My heart raced against my ribs. I checked the clock on the microwave for the tenth time.

8:45 AM.

“Mama, look! I used the new red pencil!” Lorna cheered from the kitchen table.

I turned around. Lorna wore her denim overalls, and her raven-black hair was pulled into two messy pigtails. She hunched over the beautiful leather sketchbook Zyran had bought her, coloring furiously.

“It is beautiful, bug,” I said, my voice trembling a little.

Nixie leaned against the counter next to me, sipping...