"Let's go fix the clock," I said, my voice barely a whisper, though in the sudden, heavy silence of the foyer, it sounded like a shout.
For a long minute, nobody moved. We just stood there on the dusty rug of 42 Whispering Lane, looking like a group of people who had been through a car crash and then tossed into a dryer. The automated broom continued its rhythmic thud-thud-thud against my boot until Kaelen finally reached down, picked the thing up, and set it facing the other way.
"Ren," Tybalt said, his mouth still full of the crusty garlic bread he'd rescued from the Void. He swallowed hard, his eyes wide. "The letter. You're kidding, right? You're definitely kidding. We just got back. I haven't even checked if the sourdough starter survived the trip to the moon."
