CAELIN POV
It was one a.m. and I was going to die.
Not in a heroic, battle-glory, songs-would-be-sung-about-me kind of way. No one would write a poem out of it and definitely if anyone had the courage of turning my death into a portrait... it would be part of a comic book.
I was going to die because I gave two six-year-olds chocolate before bed.
And honestly?
I deserved it.
I'd been a dumb, unprepared, overconfident uncle.
“AGAIN!” Owen yelled, launching himself off the bed like a tiny suicidal squirrel. Even if he was the size of a six months old cub.
“NO, WAIT, I WANT TO FLY TOO—” Ella shrieked, already climbing onto the headboard like she had a death wish and zero survival instincts.
I closed my eyes.
Just… closed them.
Maybe if I didn’t look at them, they’d stop existing.
