Julian goes quiet, jaw tight. I know that expression, the one that means he's processing but not ready to concede.
"Your mom is going to love Elowen," Tyler says, shifting the topic with characteristic smoothness. "And Pen's going to want to adopt her as a sister immediately. Stop worrying."
"I'm not worrying."
"You've checked your phone six times in the last ten minutes."
Julian sets his phone face-down on the seat next to him. "I'm strategically planning."
"Sure. That."
Riverside is forty-five minutes from Elderwood, industrial and working-class in a way that contrasts sharply with both Millbrook's small-town charm and the Ashfords' rural wealth. We pass factories and row houses, corner stores with hand-painted signs, a high school with a track field that's seen better days.
"There," Julian says, pointing to a side street.
The Cross home is modest but well-maintained—a small three-bedroom with vinyl siding and a neat front yard. Pen's gymnastics trophies are visible in the window, catching afternoon light.
An older sedan sits in the driveway, and a woman is already on the porch before we park.
Rebecca Cross has dark hair pulled into a practical ponytail and an expression that manages to be both tired and warmlyalert. She's wearing jeans and a sweater, work shoes visible by the door.
"Julian." Her voice carries across the yard. "You're here."
There's relief in it, and love, and something else I can't quite name.
Julian's out of the car first, moving toward his mother with unusual speed. She hugs him tight, the kind of hug that says I worry about you and I'm so glad you're safe.
When they separate, Rebecca's gaze shifts to the rest of us.
"You must be Elowen." She steps forward, hand extended. "Rebecca Cross. And these are...?"
"Calder Ashford and Tyler Vale," Julian supplies. "My pack."
If Rebecca has any reaction to the phrasing, she doesn't show it. Just nods once, shakes hands with each of us in turn.
"Come in, please. I've got tea going and—Pen! They're here!"
The front door bursts open and a teenage girl bounds out—dark curly hair in a ponytail, athletic build, wearing a gymnastics warm-up jacket over leggings. Her energy is immediate and infectious.
"Finally!" Pen launches herself at Julian, who catches her with practiced ease. "I've been waiting forever. You said noon and it's 12:07, I counted?—"
"Penelope. Breathe."
"I'm breathing. Hi!" She turns to us, eyes bright with curiosity. "I'm Pen. Elowen, Jules talks about you all the time, it's kind of annoying actually."
"Pen."
"What? It's true. You do." She grins at me. "I like your hair. And you're with all three of them? That's so cool."
"Inside," Rebecca says firmly, but her mouth twitches with amusement. "Let them breathe first, honey."
The interior of the house is exactly what Julian described, lived-in and loved. The kitchen table is clearly command central, currently cleared of its usual papers. Pen's backpack sits by the stairs, Rebecca's work bag on a hook by the door. Photos line the walls, family pictures, Pen's competitions, Julian's academic achievements.
One photo catches my eye: a family of four, younger. Julian serious even as a child, Pen grinning gap-toothed, Rebecca and a tall alpha man with kind eyes.
"That's Dad," Pen says, following my gaze. "He's been in Peru for like eighteen months. Forever, basically."
"Pen," Rebecca says quietly.
