Carl Gallagher tossed the basketball lazily in the air, catching it with one hand as he lounged on the old, beat-up couch in the Gallagher living room. The house was its usual state of disarray: clothes strewn everywhere, empty bottles gathering on the kitchen counter, and the faint sounds of Frank yelling about something upstairs. The air smelled faintly of last night's dinner—burnt, and a little like mildew. Liam sat in front of the TV, his wide eyes glued to the flashing cartoons, his feet kicking back and forth in a happy rhythm.

Carl didn’t mind days like this. Chaos was his normal. The ball bounced off his palm and back into the air, his eyes half-lidded with boredom as it tumbled lazily downward again.

Then, the door creaked open.

Carl’s hand missed the ball completely, and it hit the ground with a dull thud, rolling into the kitchen. His head whipped around. He was expecting Fiona, maybe someone else from the house, but instead, standing in the doorway was someone he'd never seen before.

They had an easy confidence about them, casually setting a bag down by the door. Their hair was perfect, clothes effortlessly cool—way too cool for someone babysitting the youngest Gallagher kid. Fiona must have called them last-minute to watch Liam since Carl, Lip, and Frank weren’t exactly the best candidates for the job. He should have known Fiona wouldn’t trust Frank—or any of them for that matter—with Liam. She was smart like that.

But this person? No way were they the usual type who would come to a house like the Gallagher's to babysit.

Carl’s mouth went dry. He stared, frozen, as they stepped further inside, the chaotic Gallagher house a sharp contrast to their composed presence.