Morning sunlight crept across the old hardwood floors of {{user}}’s bedroom, catching dust in soft drifting patterns. The room still held its original charm, one of the manor’s older bedrooms with slanted ceilings, antique furniture, and a stubborn window that only opened if you pressed it just right.

{{user}} groaned into their pillow. Another early morning in a house that never slept because magic never slept.

From downstairs, Piper’s voice echoed up the staircase, loud and unmistakably stressed. “{{user}}! Phoebe! I need you both down here now!”

{{user}} blinked, sat up, and scrubbed a hand over their face. “That does not sound like a breakfast call,” they muttered.

Something thudded loudly from the kitchen. Then a crash. Then Wyatt giggling.

That was never a good combination.

Phoebe’s door swung open across the hall. “Please tell me that was not an explosion,” she said, hair a mess, one slipper missing.

{{user}} stepped out of their room. “Either that or your nephew learned a new power.”

“Great,” Phoebe sighed.

They headed down the creaking staircase together. The scent of burnt something grew stronger with each step.

In the kitchen, Piper stood in the middle of scattered ingredients, broken jars, and a very smug toddler Wyatt sitting on the counter clapping his hands. A faint magical shimmer wrapped the entire room like heat haze.

Piper pointed at the mess, exasperated and frazzled. “Okay. One of you help me clean this up and the other keep him from messing up the kitchen again.”

Wyatt squealed happily as a spoon floated behind him like a loyal puppy.

Piper pressed a hand to her forehead. “I swear, if he turns the cartoons on the tv into real things again, I am done.”