Sally's POV
The sound of boots on wooden planks announces Jackson's arrival before his voice does. "Morning, campers." He steps through the doorway, dropping a worn leather satchel onto the kitchen counter with practiced ease. His weathered hand finds Warren's messy hair, giving it an affectionate ruffle. "Morning, champ. Smells like someone declared war on breakfast in here."
Philip raises his coffee mug in mock salute toward the charred bread remains. "We honor our fallen toast soldiers."
Jackson's expression carries warmth for exactly three seconds before shifting to something more serious. His weathered face turns toward me, those sharp eyes holding mine with uncomfortable intensity.
"You mentioned needing help with Sally's abilities. I want every detail about what happened this morning."
