"Where are you going?" Morgana asked her eldest son, James Kane as he threw on a black jacket over his black shirt and black jeans.
Morgana stood in the doorway of the spacious kitchen, arms folded, watching him. He moved with restless energy, jaw tight, shoulders set.
"Out."
James didn't look at her as he tugged the jacket into place, checking his pockets for his wallet, phone—everything accounted for except his patience.
"I told you to stop wearing all black. You look like a criminal."
Morgana sighed as she said it.
"It goes with my mood today." He answered.
That finally earned a glance—a brief one, eyes dark, guarded, already halfway out the door. It chilled her more than any outright defiance.
"I need to know where you are going so I know if you can go with your bike."
"I'm taking the bus mum." James said.
"To where?"
She followed him unwilling to let the conversation end on his terms.
"Mum, get off my case!" he said and slammed the door behind him.
