The kitchen sounded like someone had stuffed a circus into a biscuit tin and shaken it.

Celeste heard the crash before she reached the bottom of the stairs.

Then came Mezzo’s voice.

“GET OFF ME, YE WEE CUBE-HEADED MENACE!”

Something shrieked.

Something else clanged.

Lumina gasped.

Arcade shouted, “Don’t knock that over!”

And Bonbon, apparently unbothered by any of this, declared from somewhere inside, “Crempog!”

Celeste paused in the doorway.

The Egg Tree’s kitchen was warm, bright, and utterly ridiculous. Jelly-lanterns swung from the ceiling beams. Wafer-brick walls glowed faintly in the morning light. Pots bubbled on the hob, filling the room with the smell of pancakes, cinnamon, fried apples, and the faint bitter tang of burnt sugar.

Carys stood behind the counter, calmly flipping pancakes with the air of someone preparing breakfast in a perfectly ordinary household.

In front of her, Mezzo was wrestling a Sugar Rusher.

The tiny candy zombie mouse had somehow got itself onto his head and was now clinging to his hair with all four claws, its sugar-cube body jittering violently, razor teeth snapping at his ears.

Mezzo spun in circles, arms flailing. “I swear on all that is crispy, if this thing eats me hair, I’m haunting every last one of ye!”

Carys did not look up from the pan. “Third one this week.”

Celeste blinked. “Third?”

“Aye,” Carys said, sliding another pancake onto a plate. “Egg Tree swats most of them away. Some still get in. Usually through the vents.”

The Sugar Rusher hissed.

Mezzo hissed back.

Bonbon sat at the table, happily eating a pancake cut into tiny pieces. She watched the chaos with round, delighted eyes.

“Llygoden siwgr,” she said, pointing her fork.

“Yes,” Celeste said faintly. “That is definitely one.”

Skye sat beside Lumina, carefully helping fix her hair. He had a brush in one hand and a little ribbon between his teeth, his brow furrowed in serious concentration. Lumina sat very still, though her feet swung happily under the chair.

Arcade, meanwhile, was hunched over the far end of the table, tinkering with some sort of sparking device made from copper wire, cracked crystal, a broken arcbracer plate, and what appeared to be half a toaster.

No one questioned it.

No one ever questioned Arcade’s inventions before breakfast. That way lay madness and possibly minor electrocution.

Celeste stepped into the kitchen slowly. “Should we… help?”

Mezzo whirled toward her, the Sugar Rusher now perched between his ears like an evil little crown.

“YES!”

Celeste hurried over. “Right. Hold still.”

“I AM HOLDIN’ STILL!”

“You are rotating.”

“That’s strategic panic!”

The Sugar Rusher lunged at Celeste’s sleeve. She squeaked, summoned a tiny shimmer of light around her paw, and grabbed it carefully by the back of its sugar-cube body.

It snapped at her fingers.

“Oh no, thank you.”

With a tiny yelp of effort, Celeste tugged it free.

Mezzo’s hair sprang up in every direction.

The Sugar Rusher wriggled like a furious sweet with legs.

Celeste spun toward the open window. “Sorry!”

She tossed it.

The Sugar Rusher flew in a glittering arc, bounced off the windowsill with a squeal, then scampered outside and vanished down the branch.

There was a beat of silence.

Mezzo patted his head with both hands.

“My hair,” he whispered. “Is it still handsome?”

Celeste looked at him.

His hair looked like it had lost a battle with a fork.

“Very… brave,” she said.

Arcade glanced up. “That’s not what he asked.”

“I was being kind.”

Chip’s little voice crackled from somewhere inside Arcade’s half-built device. “Hair status: emotionally compromised.”

Mezzo pointed at the gadget. “Is the kettle insulting me?”

“It’s not a kettle,” Arcade said.

“What is it?”

Arcade stared at him.

Mezzo lifted both hands. “Right, yeah, stupid question before toast. My mistake.”

Celeste sat down slowly, accepting a plate from Carys with a grateful little nod. The warmth of the kitchen wrapped around her, but the ache from the balcony still lingered under her ribs.

She looked toward the doorway.

Ray had not come in.

Neither had Pitch, Hughes, or Bracer.

Her fork tapped lightly against the plate.

“Ray and the others seem…” Celeste began, then stopped.

Arcade did not look up from his device. “Cautious?”

Celeste’s ears drooped a little. “Yes.”

“Good.”

She blinked. “Good?”

Arcade tightened something with a tiny screwdriver. “They’re the only real adults here. No offence.”

Mezzo opened his mouth.

Arcade pointed the screwdriver at him. “Some offence.”

Mezzo shut his mouth again.

Arcade looked back at the device. “I don’t blame them. None of this is normal. We’ve got zombie candy, mystery mana, a magic tree, kids with powers, and you doing whatever sparkly apocalypse nonsense you do. If no one was cautious, I’d be more worried.”

Celeste lowered her gaze to her pancake. “I suppose.”

“It doesn’t mean they hate you,” Arcade added, quieter.

Celeste glanced at him.

He shrugged, refusing to soften fully. “It means they’re scared. People get stupid when they’re scared.”

Carys set down a jug of syrup. “Some people are stupid before that.”

Mezzo frowned. “I feel that was aimed at me.”

“It can be if you like,” Carys said.

Bonbon pushed her plate toward Celeste and said firmly, “Mwy o surop.”

Celeste smiled weakly and poured a little more syrup over Bonbon’s pancake pieces.

“Dim gormod,” Bonbon added, watching the syrup with great seriousness.

“Of course. Very sensible.”

Bonbon nodded like a tiny queen accepting tribute.

Across the table, Lumina giggled.

Skye had just finished tying a soft blue ribbon into her hair. It sat slightly crooked, but sweetly so.

Lumina turned around, beaming. “Look! Skye did it!”

Celeste smiled. “Oh, that looks lovely.”

Skye’s ears twitched, shyly pleased. “It’s uneven.”

“I like it uneven,” Lumina said. “It looks magic.”

Then, before anyone could stop her, Lumina picked up a spare bow from the table.

It was pale pink, frilly, and had a tiny plastic strawberry in the centre.

She turned toward Skye with a mischievous grin.

“You should join in too.”

Skye blinked. “What?”

Lumina reached up and placed the bow in his hair.

For one second, nothing happened.

Then Skye went completely still.

His pupils shrank. His fingers curled around the brush. The colour drained from his face so quickly Celeste felt the change before she understood it.

Lumina giggled, unaware.

“There! You look pretty.”

Mezzo, who was still patting his damaged hair into shape, glanced over and grinned, trying to be helpful in the loud, disastrous way only Mezzo could manage.

“Aww, look at ye! Prettiest one here, aren’t ye?” He leaned an elbow on the table. “Maybe we should call ye Skylar, eh?”

The room broke.

Skye made a sound.

Not a shout.

Not a sob.

Something smaller and worse.

His whole body began to shake.

The brush dropped from his hand and hit the floor.

Lumina’s smile vanished. “Skye?”

Skye grabbed at the bow as if it were burning him. His breathing turned sharp and fast, too fast, his little chest jerking with each inhale.

“No,” he whispered.

Mezzo’s grin fell. “Hey, lad, I was only—”

“No.”

Skye tore the bow from his hair and threw it across the room.

Then he folded in on himself.

“No, no, no, no, no—”

Arcade was out of his chair before anyone else moved.

The device on the table sparked violently behind him, forgotten.

“Mezzo, you absolute idiot!” Arcade shouted.

Mezzo recoiled as if Arcade had struck him. “I didn’t— I was just—”

“Shut up!”

Skye slid from the chair, paws clamped over his ears. His breathing became ragged, panicked, each breath scraping out of him too quickly to become air.

“She’s going to find me,” he gasped. “She’s going to find me, she’s going to find me—”

Celeste stood, horrified. “Skye—”

Arcade shot her a sharp look. “Don’t crowd him.”

Celeste froze.

Arcade dropped to the floor beside Skye, slower now, careful despite the panic in his own face.

“Hey,” Arcade said, voice suddenly low. “Skye. Look at me.”

Skye shook his head hard, eyes unfocused. “She’s going to find me.”

“No, she isn’t.”

“She is. She is. She’ll know. She’ll know, she’ll—”

Arcade pulled him close, wrapping both arms around him. Not trapping. Holding. Making himself solid.

“You’re Skye,” Arcade said firmly. “Just Skye. Nothing else.”

Skye shook violently against him.

“Just Skye,” Arcade repeated. “That’s all. That’s who you are. You’re safe.”

Skye sobbed, the sound torn out of him. “She’s going to change me.”

“No one is going to change you.”

“She said—”

“She’s not here.”

“She’ll find me.”

“She won’t.”

Arcade’s voice shook, but he kept it steady enough for Skye to hold onto.

“You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re Skye. Just Skye. Nothing else.”

The kitchen had gone deathly quiet.

Carys stood frozen behind the counter, pancake forgotten in the pan.

Bonbon’s fork hovered halfway to her mouth, her round eyes wide.

Lumina’s little hands covered her mouth. Tears gathered instantly in her eyes.

Mezzo looked as though all the air had been punched out of him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Skye did not seem to hear him.

Mezzo took one step back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t— I’m so sorry.”

Arcade glared at him over Skye’s head, eyes bright with fury. “Everyone out.”

Celeste flinched. “Arcade, I only want to—”

“Out!” Arcade snapped. “Give him space!”

The sharpness hit Celeste like a slap, but she nodded at once.

“Come on,” she whispered to Lumina.

Lumina did not move at first. Her face had crumpled, guilt flooding every inch of it.

“I hurt him,” she whispered.

Celeste gently took her hand. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Bonbon slid down from her chair silently, pancake abandoned, and followed without a word.

Mezzo lingered near the doorway, pale beneath his fur.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice cracking.

Arcade did not answer.

He only held Skye tighter, rocking him a little, murmuring the same words over and over.

“You’re Skye. You’re safe. No one’s changing you. You’re Skye.”

Mezzo turned and walked out.

The garden outside the Egg Tree was bright with morning.

Too bright.

The green spread beneath the branches in soft patches, dotted with candy flowers and little glowing mushrooms. The white dragon’s tail curled along one edge of the clearing, her head lifting slightly as the group emerged.

No one spoke at first.

Behind them, muffled through the walls, Skye’s sobbing continued.

Lumina burst into tears.

“I didn’t know,” she cried. “I didn’t know, Celeste. I only thought he’d look nice.”

Celeste knelt quickly and pulled Lumina close. Bonbon pressed herself against Celeste’s side, quiet and solemn.

“I know,” Celeste whispered. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“But I did.”

Celeste held her tighter, her own throat aching. “Sometimes we can hurt someone by accident because we step on something sore we didn’t know was there.”

Lumina sniffed. “But what if he hates me?”

“He won’t hate you for not knowing.”

“What if he does?”

Celeste had no quick answer to that.

Across the garden, Mezzo stood with his back to them, both hands gripping his own hair. His shoulders were hunched, tail low, every bit of his usual brightness knocked out of him.

Carys stepped outside after them, wiping her hands on her apron. Her expression was grave.

“What was that about?” she asked quietly.

Mezzo turned, face stricken. “I didn’t realise he was so sensitive.”

Carys gave him a look.

Not cruel.

But firm enough to make him shrink.

“That was more than sensitive.”

Mezzo swallowed hard. “I know.”

Lumina cried harder. “It was my fault. I put the bow on him.”

“No,” Celeste said gently, brushing Lumina’s hair back. “It isn’t your fault.”

“But—”

“There was something we didn’t know about Skye.” Celeste looked toward the kitchen window, where Arcade’s low voice still murmured through the glass. “Something important.”

Bonbon looked up at her and whispered, “Skye trist.”

Celeste stroked her head. “Ydy. Mae Skye’n drist iawn.”

Lumina wiped her eyes with both paws. “Can we fix it?”

Celeste hesitated.

The practical answer was no.

Not quickly.

Not with a hug, or a pancake, or a glittery card.

Some hurts were not little scratches. Some hurts were locked rooms with teeth in the dark.

“We can apologise,” Celeste said softly. “And we can listen when he’s ready to tell us what he needs. And we can not do it again.”

Lumina’s lip trembled. “What if he’s never ready?”

Celeste looked back toward the kitchen.

Through the window, she could see Arcade on the floor with Skye still curled against him. Arcade’s face was pale. Fierce. Protective in a way Celeste had never quite seen before.

She wondered how much Arcade knew.

She wondered how long Skye had been carrying that fear.

She wondered how many times someone had called him the wrong thing before it became a wound instead of a word.

“I don’t know,” Celeste admitted.

Lumina looked up at her, frightened.

Celeste brushed a tear from Lumina’s cheek with her thumb.

“But we won’t push him. We won’t make him explain just so we feel better. We’ll be kind, and we’ll wait.”

Mezzo let out a shaky breath and covered his face.

“I’m such an idiot.”

Carys softened slightly. “You made a mistake.”

“I called him—” Mezzo’s voice broke. “I thought I was joking.”

“That is the trouble with jokes,” Carys said. “Sometimes they land where we cannot see.”

Mezzo nodded miserably.

Celeste rose, keeping one hand on Lumina’s shoulder.

“When he’s ready,” she said quietly, “we tell him we’re sorry. Properly. No excuses.”

Mezzo nodded again, harder this time.

“And until then?” Lumina whispered.

Celeste looked toward the Egg Tree, where the warmth of breakfast still glowed inside, now tangled with something raw and frightening none of them had expected.

“Until then,” she said, “we give him space.”

The white dragon lowered her great head near the garden and huffed softly, warm air stirring the grass around their feet.

Bonbon reached up and took Celeste’s paw.

For once, she did not ask for breakfast.

And Celeste, standing beneath the branches with Lumina crying at her side and Mezzo silent in the grass, wondered how many secrets this little group had been carrying.

How many sore places.

How many names.

How many things they had all been too frightened to say.