Stel woke up feeling... suspiciously good.

  No headache. No dragging limbs. No lingering exhaustion tugging at the corners of her mind. Just peace. Alertness. A weird sense of being well-rested.

  She frowned at her ceiling as golden morning light snted through the blinds. That never happened.

  Not unless she had something to be anxious about—like an exam or an upcoming presentation—and even then, she always felt like a low-battery phone crawling toward the charger.

  But today?

  She felt... fine.

  Actually, better than fine.

  Pulling herself out from under the bnket, she checked her phone and blinked at the time. She was up nearly half an hour before her usual arm. She rubbed her eyes suspiciously and shuffled toward her door.

  The hallway was quiet. Familiar. Normal.

  Until it wasn’t.

  The moment she stepped into the living room, everything changed.

  Three figures occupied the space—one sitting upright and alert on the couch, one curled in the corner chair with a bnket, and a third sprawled on the cushions, snoring softly and hugging a pillow like it owed her money.

  Stel froze mid-step.

  The first figure she recognized instantly: Alex, sipping calmly from a mug with that serene confidence she always wore like silk. The other two? Total strangers.

  Then—almost in sync—two pairs of eyes turned toward her.

  Gold-silver. Gold-teal.

  Stel made a short, startled sound that would have offended cats and dogs alike.

  Alex raised her mug slightly. “Morning.”

  Stel blinked at her. “What—who—what is this?!”

  The girl in the chair, pale and rexed beneath a teal-colored scarf, blinked slowly. Her gold-teal eyes sparkled faintly in the morning light. She gave a small, sheepish wave.

  The girl on the couch groaned into her pillow. One gold-crimson eye peeked open, then the other. She stretched without ceremony, rolling zily onto her back.

  “This is not my dream home,” she muttered, her voice still hoarse from sleep yet still pleasant to the ears. “Why are you yelling?”

  “Because I don’t know you!” Stel excimed, pointing between the two.

  Soft footsteps came from behind, and before she could whirl around to bolt, she ran directly into something—someone—cool and composed.

  Hazel.

  Her sister stood there, dressed immacutely as always in a soft cream blouse and ste-gray trousers, her hair tucked back with artful ease. She looked every bit like she belonged to another era. And somehow, completely unbothered.

  “Good morning,” Hazel said, eyes calm, voice gentle.

  “Hazel,” Stel said through gritted teeth. “There are strangers. In the living room. On the furniture.”

  Hazel’s gaze flicked past her shoulder. “Mariah. Celine.”

  “WHAT?!”

  Hazel nodded to each in turn. “Mariah is the one sleeping dramatically. Crimson eyes. You’ll get used to her.”

  Mariah waved sleepily from her pillow.

  “Celine is the quiet one,” Hazel continued. “With teal eyes. Very polite.”

  Celine gave a small, nervous nod.

  “And you know Alex.”

  “I thought I did,” Stel snapped. “Turns out she comes with friends!”

  Hazel reached out and rested a gentle hand on Stel’s shoulder. “It was a long night. I invited them to stay over. They’re safe. You don’t need to be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid!” Stel said, still staring wide-eyed at the two strangers. “I’m just... outnumbered!”

  Alex chuckled from her pce on the couch. “You’re still the loudest, though. So that’s a kind of power.”

  Stel gred. “I will throw something.”

  Hazel’s hand guided her toward the kitchen. “Come on. Coffee first. Questions after.”

  “I have so many questions,” Stel muttered, letting herself be pulled anyway.

  As Hazel reached the cabinet for the beans, Stel leaned around the corner.

  “They’re not staying forever, right?”

  Hazel smiled faintly as she scooped grounds into the machine. “Just for now.”

  “Why?”

  Hazel set the scoop down gently and turned back toward the living room.

  “Oh,” she said with a soft glimmer in her voice. “That reminds me—Alex, Mariah, Celine…”

  The three turned toward her with quiet expectation.

  Hazel gestured toward Alex. “This is Alex. She’s been staying with us for a little while.”

  Celine blinked. “You didn’t know each other already?”

  Mariah opened one crimson eye again. “Well damn. You blend in like a pro.”

  Alex sipped her coffee, smiling faintly. “I’m adaptable.”

  Hazel turned back to Stel, who looked like she’d just walked into a very polite fever dream.

  “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Stel muttered.

  Hazel raised an eyebrow, completely unrepentant. “Immensely.”

  The smell of sizzling butter and maple filled the air as Hazel moved with practiced ease between the stove and the counter.

  A bowl of whisked eggs sat beside her, and a pan crackled softly on the burner. Each motion she made was effortless, precise—like a dance she knew by heart.

  Stel hovered nearby, nursing her coffee like it was a lifeline and gncing occasionally toward the living room, where Alex, Celine, and Mariah had started chatting in soft voices.

  It was surreal, like waking up in a house full of movie characters—elegant, poised, and somehow not quite normal.

  Hazel broke the momentary silence. “You’re being quiet.”

  Stel took another sip and muttered, “I’m trying not to panic.”

  “Panic’s unnecessary. They’re here because they trust us. You’ll see that soon enough.”

  Stel leaned against the counter, watching as Hazel flipped a pancake with an effortless flick of her wrist. “Are you cooking because it calms you or because it distracts me?”

  Hazel smiled faintly. “Yes.”

  Before Stel could respond, the guest room door opened.

  Stel turned—and nearly dropped her mug.

  A fifth stranger had just walked into the kitchen.

  Well—not quite a stranger.

  The girl was tall, graceful in a loose, almost zy way, her dark hair spilling down one shoulder like it hadn't quite decided to be brushed.

  She wore an oversized bck hoodie and leggings, her feet bare, and her skin had the same otherworldly smoothness Stel now recognized in Hazel and Alex—but unlike the others, it bore the fading marks of something more brutal.

  Scars, pale and thin, traced along her colrbone and down her forearms—like echoes of bindings, long healed but not quite forgotten.

  “Morning,” the girl said casually, her voice light and warm, as though she’d always lived here.

  Stel blinked. “Who—?”

  “Lena,” Hazel said, still flipping pancakes with fwless composure. “She’s the st to wake.”

  Lena gave a zy little wave. “Nice to meet you.”

  Then she strolled over to the fridge, opened it like she’d done it a hundred times, and pulled out a sleek, metal thermos.

  She unscrewed the top, sniffed the contents, and gave a satisfied nod before taking a slow sip.

  Stel stared.

  Her eyes drifted down to the girl’s arms again—those faint, crisscrossing scars that didn’t quite blend in with the rest of her elegance.

  Lena caught the look.

  There was a pause—brief, but noticeable.

  Stel hesitated. “Um... what happened to you?”

  Lena didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned her head, her expression unreadable, and looked toward Hazel.

  Hazel didn’t turn from the stove. “It’s your choice.”

  Another beat of silence.

  Then Lena took another sip from her thermos and leaned back against the counter, one hip cocked with practiced ease.

  “I was held somewhere,” she said, voice light but unhurried. “Some people thought I shouldn’t exist. They tried to fix that.”

  Stel’s eyes widened. “That’s—”

  “They’re not a problem anymore,” Lena said, not unkindly. “And I’m still here. So I’d say things worked out.”

  Hazel slid a pancake onto a pte, pcing it beside a slice of buttered toast. “We’re lucky they did.”

  “You’re lucky I’m charming,” Lena replied with a grin.

  Stel blinked. “You’re all so... weirdly calm.”

  “We get that a lot,” Alex called from the living room.

  Mariah’s voice followed, muffled by a pillow. “Just eat your pancakes, kid.”

  “I haven’t been given pancakes yet!” Stel called back.

  Hazel pced a fresh pte in front of her.

  “There. You’ve been given.”

  Stel stared down at it. Then gnced back up at Lena. “You’re seriously okay?”

  Lena took another long drink from her thermos. “Not all at once. But I’m getting there.”

  Stel didn’t quite know what to say to that. So she sat, slowly, and picked up her fork.

  Hazel stood beside her, silent for a moment.

  Then she gently rested a hand on Stel’s shoulder. “You’re not alone in this, you know.”

  “I’m starting to realize that,” Stel muttered.

  And, for the first time that morning, her voice didn’t sound quite as overwhelmed.

  The soft ctter of cutlery, the golden warmth of morning sunlight, and the scent of browned butter and syrup wrapped the kitchen in a quiet comfort.

  Hazel moved between the stove and the table with elegant efficiency, pcing warm ptes down one by one. The final pancake sizzled as it hit the skillet, its edges crisping into a perfect circle.

  Stel sat at the center of the kitchen table, her pte already stacked high, and her mug of coffee nestled between her palms like a shield.

  To her left sat Alex, poised and graceful, her golden-silver gaze occasionally drifting toward the others with that subtle curiosity she always wore.

  Celine had quietly cimed the seat across from Stel. She wasn’t saying much, but her posture had softened since earlier, and her teal-tinted golden eyes flicked toward the others with quiet attentiveness.

  Mariah—zily curled into a chair like she owned the kitchen—sat across from Alex. She tore into her pancakes like they owed her a debt, her gold-crimson eyes half-lidded but alert.

  Then came Lena.

  She had padded in only moments ago, her hoodie oversized and sleeves half-swallowing her hands. Her hair, still a little tousled from sleep, tumbled around her shoulders in loose waves.

  She had bypassed the table entirely at first, grabbing a metal thermos from the fridge and leaning against the counter, sipping without ceremony.

  Stel felt like she was in a dream—or maybe a horror-comedy with a really stylish cast.

  “You all really just… exist like this?” she muttered around a mouthful of pancake.

  Mariah raised an eyebrow, slicing into her second helping. “What do you mean, exist?”

  “Like, you just… show up out of nowhere, act like you belong, sit around my breakfast table being pretty, mysterious, and... chill.”

  Lena smirked into her thermos. “We’re just giving you something to write about in your journal ter.”

  “I don’t have a journal,” Stel replied defensively.

  “You do now,” Alex said smoothly. “Chapter one: ‘The Morning I Got Ambushed by Supermodels.’”

  Celine blinked slowly. “That title needs work.”

  “Thank you!” Stel pointed at her with her fork. “Finally, someone logical.”

  “I just think it’s misleading,” Celine added. “None of us are professional models.”

  Mariah gave a low whistle. “Speak for yourself.”

  Stel covered her face with one hand. “This is too much.”

  Hazel, now seated gracefully beside her, poured herself a cup of tea and stirred it slowly.

  “You’re handling it better than expected,” she said lightly.

  “That’s because I haven’t had time to process the fact that there are six of us.”

  Lena raised a finger. “Technically five and a half.”

  “Excuse me?” Stel narrowed her eyes.

  “You’re still in your pajamas,” Lena expined, lifting her brows. “It’s hard to take you seriously as a full person until the caffeine kicks in.”

  “I will throw this fork,” Stel warned.

  “Do it,” Mariah grinned. “You’ll be the first human to initiate combat. We’ll call it historic.”

  Celine let out a small sound—barely a chuckle, but enough to draw attention.

  “She’s thinking about it,” Alex said, eyes twinkling.

  “No I’m not,” Stel mumbled, but her blush betrayed her.

  Hazel sipped her tea, the corner of her mouth lifting in amusement. “Perhaps we should introduce everyone more properly.”

  Stel gave her a withering look. “Now you’re doing formal introductions?”

  “Better te than never,” Hazel replied.

  Mariah tossed her hand in the air. “Mariah. I like fighting and breakfast. Not necessarily in that order.”

  “Lena,” said the girl with the thermos, offering a zy little salute. “Currently reviving. Tolerant of chaos.”

  Celine smiled gently. “Celine. Just trying to keep up.”

  “Survivor,” Alex said with a nod of approval.

  Stel looked at each of them, exhaled slowly, then stabbed a piece of pancake with unnecessary force. “Okay. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the invasion.”

  Mariah leaned forward, grinning. “Hazel, she’s already spicy. Can we keep her?”

  “She lives here,” Hazel replied evenly.

  “Even better.”

  Stel chewed her bite slowly. “I knew I should’ve stayed in bed.”

  Alex leaned over. “Too te. You’re one of us now.”

  “One of what, exactly?” Stel asked warily.

  Lena raised her brow. “Hazel’s humans.”

  Hazel finally ughed—soft, composed, affectionate. “She’s more than that.”

  “Yeah,” Mariah said through another bite. “She’s the glue. The coffee-fueled, sleep-deprived glue that holds this dysfunctional table together.”

  “I didn’t agree to that,” Stel muttered.

  “You don’t have to,” Alex replied. “You just have to eat your pancakes.”

  “I am eating my pancakes!”

  “Then you’re doing great,” Hazel murmured, resting her chin lightly in her hand.

  Stel groaned and looked around at the table again. Every face was absurdly perfect, absurdly composed, absurdly not normal.

  And somehow, she was still the center of their attention.

  “I’m living in a fever dream,” she whispered.

  “You’re living in the best breakfast club reboot ever,” Mariah corrected.

  “You’re a guest star,” Lena added.

  “You’re the only one with syrup on her face,” Celine said quietly.

  Stel wiped her mouth, shrieked, and dropped her napkin.

  Laughter rang out across the table—low, easy, affectionate.

  Hazel said nothing, just watched her sister with calm, golden eyes and a smile that didn’t fade.