Chapter 40 Whispers In The Gilded Dark

• The scent of burnt toast lingered in the safehouse kitchen, a mundane rebellion against the chaos outside. Adam stood at the stove, scowling at the skillet where eggs congealed into a rubbery mess. His brow furrowed in concentration, as if overcooking breakfast could somehow fix the world.
• “You’re supposed to flip them,” I said, leaning against the doorway.
• He jabbed the spatula like a weapon. “Says the woman who microwaves coffee.”