The scent of toasted bread and caramelized onions led me into the kitchen.
Sienna stood over the stove, sleeves rolled, hair up in a bun, wearing one of Camille's oversized hoodies. Alexis sat at the island counter, notebook open, murmuring observations about nutrient density and sleep deprivation. Evelyn leaned silently against the wall, a mug of something warm pressed to her lips. She was still blindfolded.
"Morning," I said.
Four voices echoed back, one louder than the rest.
Camille.
She danced barefoot into the room, hair wet, shirt half-tucked like it had tried to escape and failed. She twirled once in front of the mirror by the fridge.
"Tell me this hoodie doesn't scream 'functionally mysterious.'"
"It screams something," Alexis muttered.
I sat down. Sienna handed me a plate. Two eggs, toast, avocado. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until I started eating. No one pushed conversation. No one needed to.
We ate like we hadn't for weeks.
