The front door opened with the familiar creak that always sounded louder than it needed to, announcing their presence with unnecessary fanfare. Eloise burst inside first, shoes half off, backpack swinging wildly from one shoulder like a pendulum of chaotic energy.
"We're home!" she announced loudly, as if the house might not realize it otherwise.
Drake snorted, efficiently kicking off his own sneakers. "It knows, Lise. The roof didn't fall down."
He was the only one who ever called her that—Lise instead of Eloise. Not their father. Not their teachers. Just Drake. It had started when she was too young to say her own name properly, and he'd never let it go. Somehow, hearing it from anyone else would've felt wrong. From him, it felt like home.
Martha Winters was already there, like she always was—waiting.
