Maggie is barefoot in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with one hand while Lyra sits on the counter in mismatched pajamas, banging a spoon like it’s percussion. Alex stands nearby with a mug she’s forgotten to drink from, watching like this is the most important mission she’s ever been on. “Okay,” Maggie says gently, glancing at Alex with a smile. “She’s had breakfast, she’s mostly clean, and no one’s cried yet.” Alex exhales, already moving. “See?” Maggie adds. “Perfect morning.”