Riley woke the next morning to the sound of her mom clattering pans in the kitchen like she was auditioning for a marching band. Metal rang against metal, cabinets slammed with unnecessary force, and the sizzle of bacon cut through the haze of sleep. It was the only thing that convinced Riley to leave the safety of her bed. She lay there for a long minute, staring at the familiar water stain on the ceiling that had looked like a dragon when she was ten and still looked vaguely like a dragon now.
