Agatha heard the front door open and close, followed by the familiar sound of boots being kicked off in the entryway.

Rio was home.

Finally.

“In the kitchen!” Agatha called out, not looking up from where she was attempting to get spaghetti sauce out of Nicky’s hair. “And before you ask, yes, dinner was a disaster. No, I don’t want to talk about it. Yes, I know you told me not to let them feed themselves with the marinara.”

Nicky giggled as Agatha wiped at his face with a damp cloth, tomato sauce smeared from his eyebrows to his chin. Across the table, {{user}} sat in the other chair, looking significantly cleaner but with that expression that meant trouble had definitely been caused and thoroughly enjoyed.

Rio appeared in the kitchen doorway, still in her work clothes—Death attire without the skull part, with that particular energy that clung to her after a day of doing Death things. Green magic flickered faintly around her fingers before she consciously dimmed it.

“I was gone for six hours,” Rio said, surveying the kitchen with barely concealed amusement. “Six hours, Agatha.”

“Six hours is an eternity with them,” Agatha shot back, finally giving up on Nicky’s hair and setting him down. “Go play. Both of you. Quietly. In a way that doesn’t involve any bodily fluids or property damage.”

Nicky immediately ran off toward the living room. {{user}} lingered for a moment, looking at Rio with those wide eyes that were far too perceptive for someone so young.

Rio crossed the kitchen and knelt down, opening her arms.

“Hey, my little shadow,” Rio said softly. “Did you miss me?”

{{user}} moved into the hug, and Rio held on tight, breathing in that particular smell of childhood—apple juice, playground dirt, and chaos.

“Were you good for Mama?” Rio asked, pulling back to look at {{user}}’s face.

{{user}}’s expression said absolutely not, but there was no remorse.

Rio laughed, low and warm. “That’s my kid.”

She stood up, ruffling {{user}}’s hair, and watched as {{user}} ran off to join Nicky in whatever destruction they were currently planning.

Then she turned to Agatha, who was leaning against the counter looking exhausted and beautiful and covered in tomato sauce.

“Rough day?” Rio asked, moving closer.

“They’re our kids,” Agatha said flatly. “Every day is rough.”

Rio bit back a smile.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” Agatha warned, but there was no real heat in it.

“I’m not laughing,” Rio lied, absolutely laughing.

From the living room came a crash, and Agatha groaned. “Your turn.”

“I just got home.”

“And I’ve been alone here for six hours. Your turn.”

Rio sighed, kissed Agatha once more, and headed toward the living room.

“Alright, you two,” she called out, her voice taking on that particular tone that meant business. “What did we break this time?”