"Jason —" Silas starts.
"Eat your eggs."
I eat my eggs. They are, in fact, very good. Something about butter and herbs and the attention of a person who considers cooking an act of love rather than a chore.
"Good?" Jason asks, watching me.
"Incredible. What's the herb?"
"Chives and a little dill. Fresh, from the window box." He looks pleased. "Most people don't ask about the herbs."
"Most people aren't paying attention."
Jason gives me a look. Assessing, approving. "No. They're not."
The morning settles into a rhythm I'm starting to recognize. Knox makes coffee for everyone without asking what they want because he already knows. Vaughn argues with Jason about something engine-related. Robin narrates everyone's behavior. Ezra and Nico have a quiet conversation that includes phrases like "zoning variance" and "contractor timeline". Ash helps Jason as much as he'll allow.
Toby and I talk about books. He's readingThe House in the Cerulean Seaand he's furious about how good it is.
"It's manipulative," he says, waving the book. "It knows exactly what it's doing to my emotions and it does it anyway."
"That's what good books do."
"That's what EVIL books do. I've cried three times and I'm only on chapter twelve."
"Wait until chapter twenty."
"Don't tell me that. Don't you dare tell me that." He clutches the book protectively. "Knox, Devin says chapter twenty is going to destroy me."
"Then stop reading," Knox says from behind the bar.
"I can't stop reading! That's not how books work!"
"Then be destroyed." Knox refills my coffee without being asked. The dragon mug. He filled the dragon mug. Like it's already mine, like it lives here, like I live here.
I don't live here. I live at Haven House. I have a plan. A timeline. A careful, calculated path to independence that doesn'tinclude moving in with the man I'm sleeping with after two weeks.
But sitting at this bar, in his shirt, with a dragon mug and a plate of Jason's eggs and Toby arguing about books beside me, the plan feels less like a lifeline and more like a map drawn before I knew the territory.
"Dev?" Silas's hand on my knee. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just thinking."
"About?"
"How strange it is to belong somewhere."
He's quiet for a moment. Then his hand squeezes my knee. "Get used to it."
After breakfast, I help with dishes. My default, the muscle memory of earning my place in every home I've ever been in. Wash, dry, stack. But Jason takes the towel from my hands after the third plate.
"You're a guest," he says.
"I'm not —"
"You're Silas's. That makes you family. And family doesn't do dishes the morning after their first sleepover." He steers me away from the sink. "Go. Read. Be useless for once in your life, at least until you need to get to work."
Being useless. The concept is so foreign it almost makes me laugh. I've never been useless. I've been useful since I was a kid. Quiet, helpful, no trouble, the kid who does the dishes without being asked because that's how you earn your keep.