There was murder on the news. Aaron Lightheart watched it over his cereal, barely listening to the reporter recount the details in a polished monotone.
Carter dropped into the seat beside him. A stack of five or six waffles wobbled on his plate, dripping syrup over the heap of scrambled eggs and fruit slices crammed along the edges.
“Get enough food?” Aaron asked his twin.
“Maybe,” Carter dug his fork into the eggs. “Didn’t have enough room for any yogurt. Why are you watching the news?”
Aaron shrugged. “Dad left it on.”
“Not the best cure for nightmares,” Carter said through a mouthful of food.
Aaron spared his brother a wry smile. “My nightmares are worse than this. And I don’t think avoiding TV will help.”