The next morning began with chaos. A sharp, panicked yell split the quiet of the apartment.
"Why didn't you wake me up? I'm late!"
The voice, unmistakably Micah's, carried from the bedroom.
Clyde, who was sitting calmly at the dining table with a mug of steaming coffee in hand, didn't flinch. He only lifted his gaze toward the hallway, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he couldn't decide between amusement and betrayal. His pale blue eyes followed the frantic sound of footsteps as Micah scrambled out of bed.
Micah's hair was sticking in every direction, his pyjama top twisted around his torso from having slept in it. He stumbled toward the guest room, muttering under his breath while kicking the door open. Clothes rustled as he yanked open drawers and hurriedly searched for something halfway presentable to wear.
