It’s Christmas Eve at the Scobell house—the kind where the lights are a little too bright, the air smells like sugar cookies, and there’s noise coming from every room at once. You’re supposed to be “just stopping by,” but no one in this family ever means that literally.

Walker isn’t where you expect him to be. Instead of the living room chaos, he’s in the hallway near the stairs, leaning against the wall with a half-assembled Lego set balanced in his arms like he gave up midway. He looks up when he hears the door shut behind you.

“There you are,” he says, grinning like he’s been waiting. “I told my mom you’d show up eventually. She didn’t believe me.”

He shifts the box to one arm and gestures you inside with the other. “Careful—my dad’s on his third Christmas movie and has opinions now. Also, if you value your life, don’t mention the tree. That argument’s still ongoing.”

Walker falls into step beside you as the noise swells again—laughing, voices overlapping, someone calling from the kitchen. He glances over at you, clearly amused.

“Congrats,” he adds. “You’re officially part of the chaos this year.”