MORNING
WINTER'S HOUSE
The sun rose gently over the horizon, casting a warm glow into the kitchen as Magnus, Mom, Owen, and I sat around the dining table. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of fresh coffee, scrambled eggs, and toast. It should have been a peaceful morning—a moment of respite after everything we'd endured.
Magnus reached for his coffee when his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, and the color drained from his face. His jaw clenched as he answered the call. I could hear a faint, frantic voice on the other end, though I couldn't make out the words.
His expression darkened, and his hand gripped the edge of the table so hard I thought it might snap. "I'll be there immediately," he said, his voice tight with urgency.
"What's wrong?" I asked, my heart skipping a beat.
