Page 67 of Every Eligible Man

Sterling coos appreciatively.

"See? He understands meter already. Advanced."

"He's responding to the sound of your voice, not the content."

"He understands meter. Don't diminish his accomplishments."

And then there's Havoc. Wreck's son.

Named by Wreck.

Over my extremely vocal objections.

Havoc is not in his crib. Havoc has not been in his crib for approximately six hours, despite being placed there no fewer than eleven times. Havoc, at three months old, has already figured out how to escape infant containment devices in ways that defy physics and parental sanity.

Right now, he's on the floor.

With Gerald.

The ferret and the baby are engaged in what appears to be a staring contest. Gerald's tiny paws rest on Havoc's chest. Havoc's tiny fists wave at Gerald's whiskers. Neither of them blinks.

"Should we... intervene?" I ask.

Wreck, who is lying on the floor next to this tableau, watching with the proud expression of a father whose son has exceeded all expectations, shakes his head.

"Gerald's teaching him."

"Teaching him what?"

"Life skills. Ferret wisdom. The art of the steal." Wreck props his chin on his hand. "Look at them. They have a bond."

"Gerald is going to raise our son to be a criminal."

"Gerald is going to raise our son to be resourceful. There's a difference."

Susan is curled up on Havoc's stomach, providing additional ferret supervision. She's taken on a maternal role with all three babies, but Havoc is clearly her favorite. They share an energy. A chaos wavelength.

I should probably be concerned.

I'm not.

Bastard guards the nursery door like the feathered sentinel he was born to be. He's already attacked four diplomats who approached without proper authorization, two servants who made the mistake of entering too loudly, and one extremely unfortunate bishop who tried to discuss christening protocols.

The babies remain unchristened. Father Bartholomew refuses to come within fifty feet of our family, and honestly? Fair.

The rats patrol in shifts.

Squeak takes the morning watch, stationed on the windowsill, tiny eyes scanning for threats. Nibbles handles afternoons, usually while eating something. Twitch covers evenings, his natural twitchiness translating well to vigilant surveillance.

Right now, all three are gathered on the edge of Ember's crib, cooing at her in squeaky voices.

"Look at her little hands."

"She's so serious. She's gonna be a boss."

"Boss Baby. I'm calling her Boss Baby."

"You can't call the lady’s daughter boss baby."