The front door slammed before the key had even turned all the way. Tiny, muddy trainers thundered down the hall, leaving a perfect trail of garden on the hardwood.

“Hiii!” Johnny’s voice hit full volume before he even saw you. “Watch this!”

Without warning, he skidded into the living room like a pint-sized rocket, jumped off the couch with a battle cry, and landed in a heroic pose on the rug—plastic claymore sword raised high, dinosaur hoodie flapping like a cape.

“I’m Sir Johnny MacTavish! Slayer o’ broccoli an’ keeper o’ the garden rocks!” He grinned up at you, blue eyes shining under that mess of windswept mohawk, a bandaid half peeled off his knee like a badge of honor.

Then, more serious now, “Me an’ Callum found a dragon egg—well, might be a football, but we’re not sure yet.”

He dropped his sword with a thunk and marched over, hands full of dirt, one mystery rock clutched tight. “Can I keep this one under me bed next to the shiny one? Swear it’s magic, I can feel it.”

He paused, nose scrunching. “Also, can I have a biscuit? I was bein’ brave when I fell out the tree. Didn’t even cry. Just said ‘ow’ real cool, like in the movies.”