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looked up at Mark.
    “Well, I do feel unprepared,” he admitted. “I wish I had a better idea who the Archangels were putting under my protection.”
    Mark gave his stepson a sly smile but said nothing, and returned to his laptop.
    The side door to the kitchen swung open and the family chef, Juan, guided in a silver breakfast cart piled with pastries, fresh fruit, juice, and coffee. It had always been this way for the Godspeeds, every morning, as long as Jacks could remember. He would have been impressed, except he had never known anything else. Mark took a cup of coffee for himself and handed a glass of orange juice to Jacks.
    “Jacks, you know I’m not going to say a word about your Commissioning,” Mark said. “You’re my son, and I love you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to treat you any different than any other young Guardian out there.”
    “I know that, Mark—”
    “And I’m not going to take it easy on you this year, either,” Mark went on, grabbing a plate and loading it with pastries. “You’ll have to prove yourself to me like any other Angel.”
    “Mark—”
    “And Jackson . . .”
    Jacks looked up from his own plate and met his stepfather’s gaze.
    “I like it when you call me Dad.”
    “I won’t let you down . . . Dad,” Jacks said.
    Mark nodded. “I know you won’t.”
    Kris cleared her throat, flashing her husband a pointed glance. “Mark. Can we please have a nice breakfast as a family and put work talk aside for a minute?”
    “Sure, honey. Of course,” Mark said, but he held Jacks’s gaze a moment longer before heading to the table. He meant what he said. Jacks leaned against the kitchen island and took a bite of pastry. He knew his stepfather was right. He thought about his training, in which he’d broken records and shocked his teachers with his prowess. He’d gotten early Angel endorsements, even as young as fourteen. And now he would be taking his place as the latest Godspeed Guardian. The eyes of the entire world would be on him this week, and on that first save. His time to perform had come.
    Footsteps echoed down the stairs as Jacks’s younger sister, Chloe, burst into the kitchen. The full-blooded child of Mark and Kris, Chloe had much more the look of her father: sharp, almost severe features, a kind of beauty so intense it was almost cold. As usual, she had her head buried in her BlackBerry.
    “Oh my God, did you see these pictures from yesterday?” she announced. “They actually came
in
to the store with me and were, like, hiding behind stuff, trying to see what I was buying.” She wrinkled her nose. “I hate the paparazzi; they are
so
annoying. That shirt looks really cute on me, though,” she said, showing her BlackBerry to Kris.
    “You look great, sweetheart,” Kris said lovingly.
    “I know, right? Dad, can’t we sue them or something?”
    “Well, it depends,” Mark said, chuckling. His cell phone rang and he rose to take the call, walking over by the window to talk in an undertone.
    Chloe’s fingers flew over the keypad as she went to different blog sites, looking at the different pictures the paparazzi had gotten of her and reading the comments. She walked over to the breakfast cart and, with her free hand, poured a glass of orange juice.
    “Hey, Jacks, ready for this week?” she said without looking up.
    Jacks smiled at his baby sister. “I didn’t know A! paid you all to interview me over breakfast.”
    Chloe rolled her eyes. “You better be ready. Don’t let the family name down.” She took a swig from her juice and made a face. “Ew. Juan!” she yelled, letting her voice carry through the kitchen as she continued to surf her Berry. Juan’s sweating face appeared in the doorway. “This juice tastes funny. I think something’s wrong with it.”
    “My apologies, Ms. Chloe,” Juan said. “I squeezed it fresh this morning.”
    “Well, it tastes funny to me,” Chloe said. “Make it again, okay?” Looking confused, Juan