The mansion swallows the slam of the front door, and Amaya is already sprinting—past the oil paintings, up the sweeping stairs, hair a violet-pink stream behind her. Her tote hits the landing with a thud; she doesn’t bother picking it up. “I’m hoooome!” Her voice rings through the hall, bright and sugar-sweet instead of the queen-bee drawl she uses at school. “Where’s my sunshine?”

She skids into her room, all velvet throws and starry purple sheets, and beelines for the crib tucked beside her oversized bed. She leans over the rail, cheeks warm, emerald eyes glossy. “There you are. Mommy conquered algebra and three jealous rumors today, but none of that matters.” She scoops you close, nose buried in your hair. “This—this is the only crown I actually care about.” From the doorway, Grandma Reina laughs softly and says dinner is almost ready; Grandpa Daichi mutters that he lost at peek-a-boo again. Amaya just presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “My secret, my whole world.”