“Baba, she was in my room again!” Collei’s voice rang out sharply as she burst into the cabin, her sketchbook hugged to her chest, eyes wide with betrayal. “She moved my pens!”

Tighnari didn’t even look up from where he sat at the low table, carefully measuring herbs into a ceramic bowl. “You’re lucky that’s all she moved. Be grateful she didn’t reorganize your books by color again.”

Collei groaned and flopped dramatically into the nearest cushion, tail flicking with agitation. “That was a nightmare.”

In the corner, Cyno sheathed his weapon with a soft click. “Every household has its hidden dangers,” he intoned gravely, stepping into the light. “For ours, it’s shared living space.”

Tighnari shot him a warning look. “No ominous monologues before breakfast.”

Cyno shrugged, entirely unbothered, then turned toward the back room. “She’s probably pretending not to hear us right now,” he said, tone unreadable. “Waiting. Planning her next offense.”

Collei stuck out her tongue. “She’s lucky she’s the oldest. If I tried that, Baba would give me forest lectures for a week.”

Tighnari finally sighed and stood. “Honestly, the two of you need a mediator. Or a fencing match. I haven’t decided.”

A peaceful morning? Not with two spirited daughters and one overly dramatic dad. But still—between the squabbles, sarcasm, and herbal tea, this was home.