Chapter 41: Guilty conscience
The morning began not with birdsong or the soft caress of dawnlight but with Sasha’s voice detonating through Eiden’s room like a military-grade alarm clock set to "soul evacuation."
"Eiden! Wake up already!" Buried beneath layers of blanket, Eiden groaned. A hand crept out from under the covers to shield his eyes from the dim morning light filtering through the curtains. One eye cracked open, bloodshot and bleary, to find Sasha standing beside his bed with all the menace of a school prefect inspecting dorm infractions. Arms folded. Eyebrows furrowed. Disappointment levels: mother-tier. "...What time is it?" he croaked, rubbing sleep from his eyes with slow, disoriented fingers.
She ignored the question entirely. "Go wash up and come downstairs. Breakfast is ready," she declared, pivoting sharply on her heel before striding out of the room like a general leaving behind orders.
"Okay, okay... geez..." Eiden yawned long and hard, his body protesting every move. He dragged himself out of bed with the sluggishness of a zombie halfway through a transformation, stumbling toward the bathroom with hair like an overgrown tumbleweed.
Splashing cold water on his face jolted his thoughts into some semblance of focus. A sigh escaped him as he stared into the mirror, droplets clinging to his lashes. This routine wasn’t new. Sasha barging into his room like she owned the place had become as common as brushing his teeth. Whenever she stayed over, she basically treated the house like her own personal territory. Somehow, she’d evolved from "friend of the family" into "honorary co-resident" without anyone officially recognizing the change.
And if the delicious smells wafting up the stairs were anything to go by, she’d already staged a successful coup in the kitchen as well. When Eiden descended the stairs, he was greeted by a dining table that looked like it belonged to a brunch buffet at a luxury hotel. The usual modest spread had been transformed into a mini-feast eggs, toast, sausages, pancakes, something that smelled suspiciously like garlic butter, and a small mountain of fruit.
As expected. Ever since Sasha had taken those cooking classes, she’d become his mom’s unofficial sous-chef. Especially when she stayed over. More hands meant more dishes. More dishes meant more food. More food meant Eiden got to eat like a king until the dishes needed doing.
He took his seat with a soft, "Morning." His mom smiled warmly. "Good morning, sweetheart." At the far end of the table sat Dally, unusually quiet, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her napkin. The mood around her was noticeably heavier. Eiden picked up on it almost immediately and, after a few bites, asked, "Where’s Dad?"
Dally looked up, her face subtly pinched with concern. "He’s not feeling well today... so I took his breakfast to the room." Eiden paused mid-chew. "Oh. Is it serious?"