The scent of something slightly burnt drifted into Erin's room before the sound did. At first, she thought it was just part of a dream. But when the unmistakable clang of a pan hitting the counter followed, she sat up with a jolt.
The sun had already made its way halfway across the sky, filtering golden light across the soft rug and walls. She was late. Not absurdly late, but late enough that she should've been the one bustling in the kitchen, not…
A burst of laughter echoed from downstairs. Not Xander. That voice was far too cheerful.
She quickly changed and padded barefoot down the stairs, stopping at the foot of them in surprise.
Elliot and Evan were both in the kitchen, and it looked like a cooking disaster had exploded around them. There were pancake drips on the counter, flour dust in the air, and orange juice dripping from the edge of the table like a slow-moving waterfall.
Evan looked up first. "Well, well, Sleeping Beauty finally decided to grace us with her presence."
"We were just about to call the fire department," Elliot added, gesturing at the smoking toaster.
Erin blinked. "What… what are you two doing?"
"Clearly," Elias said, flipping a lumpy pancake with zero coordination, "we're preparing a gourmet breakfast."
"It's his fault," Elliot said, pointing. "I suggested cereal."
Despite the situation, Erin laughed. It bubbled out naturally, no restraint, no calculation. "You two are disasters."
"You say that like it's new information," Evan muttered.
They looked so comfortable, like they belonged here. And maybe that was the strangest part—how quickly she was beginning to feel the same. She didn't fight it this time. She grabbed a spatula and stepped in.
They cooked together, if the chaos could be called that. Burnt toast was sacrificed. A dozen eggs scrambled their way to edible. The pancakes were odd-shaped but fluffy. When Erin tried to wipe flour off her cheek with the back of her hand, she only made it worse. Elliot passed her a dish towel with a wink.
"You're officially initiated," he said.
"Into what?"
"The Breakfast Mayhem Society."
Erin rolled her eyes, but she didn't stop smiling.
And then Xander walked in.
His dark hair was still slightly messy, and he looked like he hadn't had coffee yet. His gaze swept over the scene with sleepy detachment, but Erin didn't miss the subtle narrowing of his eyes—or the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth when she met his gaze.
"You let them into the kitchen?" he asked.
"They let themselves in," Erin replied.
"She helped us," Evan said. "So if anyone's to blame for the fire hazard, it's her."
"There wasn't a fire," Erin protested.
"Yet."
Xander just moved to the coffee machine like he was too tired to fight, but Erin could tell he wasn't annoyed. Not really. Maybe even amused.
They sat down at the cluttered dining table. The food was a mess, but no one cared. Between bites, Elliot told the worst jokes imaginable, and Evan made dramatic commentary about each bite like a food critic with too much wine.
And Erin kept stealing glances at Xander. He didn't talk much, but when he did, it was always to correct Elliot's outrageous storytelling. He didn't smile, but the cold edge she had once seen in him was entirely absent.
Was this what he was really like around people he trusted?
After breakfast, the twins cleaned up with surprising cooperation. Elliot shot Erin a grin as they left for the day. "Thanks for tolerating us. You're a solid nine out of ten. Docked a point for the eggs."
Evan added, "Don't worry. If he ever acts up, you know how to reach us."
"I do not act up," Xander muttered behind them.
And just like that, the house went quiet again.
Erin lingered in the kitchen, stacking the last few plates. Her hands moved on autopilot, but her thoughts didn't.
It had been one of the strangest mornings in this mansion. Chaotic. Loud. Messy. Normal.
And she had liked it. Too much.
She turned around, startled to see Xander still in the room. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
"You're still here," she said quietly.
He shrugged. "Didn't feel like leaving."
That unspoken thing hovered again—the tension neither of them knew how to name. Her heart pounded, not in fear, but from that confusing place she kept trying to ignore.
She turned away before it got worse.
Upstairs, in the privacy of her room, Erin pulled the box from under the bed and opened her notebook. Her fingers hovered over the pages filled with notes, plans, and warnings. But her eyes didn't focus on any of that.
All she could picture was the look in Xander's eyes when he watched her laugh this morning. And how much she didn't want to lose whatever this… almost-thing between them was becoming.
She closed the notebook, placed it back under the bed, and lay down.
There were still twenty-eight days left.
And she had no idea how to make them count without losing everything.