They didn't make it five minutes into post-breakfast peace.
Lindarion had just relocated to the bench closest to the window. Not because he needed a view, but because Ashwing had decided the windowsill was now his personal sunspot, and staring into middle distance felt appropriately brooding for someone with too many affinities and zero privacy.
Ren was making little pyramid stacks out of leftover crusts. Meren had attempted a nap and was failing due to his own dramatic sighing. Ardan stood like a statue carved from disappointment and old injuries.
Lira was sharpening her knife.
Because of course she was.
The door creaked again.
Not an ominous creak.
Raleth entered, once again with the aura of a man who'd been up since dawn arguing with a rooster.
This time, though, he wasn't alone.
Behind him stood a girl. Maybe fifteen. Brown hair pulled into a too-tight braid. Eyes wide like she wasn't sure if this was a rescue or an interrogation.
