Morning arrived with the kind of aggressive cheerfulness that only came from Linda deliberately making noise in the kitchen. Pots clanged. Cupboards banged. Someone—probably James—was whistling what sounded like show tunes, badly.
Samantha groaned into her pillow, every muscle protesting the previous night's activities in ways that were simultaneously satisfying and inconvenient.
"Your mother," Marcus muttered from somewhere to her left, his voice rough with sleep, "has the timing of a particularly sadistic alarm clock."
"She knows exactly what she's doing," Kai said, already awake and apparently functional despite having been the last one to fall asleep. "This is revenge for all the times we've traumatized her with supernatural drama. She's getting us back through aggressive breakfast preparation."
