He ran straight into the antique mahogany side table that had belonged to my great-aunt.

The table wobbled, and a small ceramic teacup, painted with delicate blue forget-me-nots, rattled near the edge.

I lunged forward and caught the cup just before it could fall.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

“Careful, buddy,” Pax said to the boy, though his voice lacked any real authority.

“This house is filled with fragile things,” I said, my voice trembling slightly as I set the cup back in the center of the table.

“It’s just a cup, Calla,” Rylan said, his voice carrying a subtle edge of warning. “Don’t scare the kid.”

I looked around the living room, my chest tightening further.

The space was unrecognizable.

Bright plastic toys were scattered across the Persian rug.

A portable playpen had been set up directly in front of the fireplace, blocking the hearth.

My grandmother’s velvet armchair had been pushed into a corner to make room for a giant diaper genie.

“Where are they staying?” I asked, looking directly at Rylan.

“The guest room, of course,” Rylan said.