Rylan stepped between us, his hands raised in a placating gesture.

“Let’s everyone just calm down,” Rylan said. “Calla, you’re tired from your shift. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I am thinking perfectly clearly,” I said, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “I want your family’s things out of that room. I want the sewing machine brought back upstairs tonight.”

Rylan’s face shifted, the soft, patient mask slipping away to reveal something much colder.

“That’s not going to happen, Calla,” he said quietly.

“Yes, it is,” I said. “Or I will start moving things myself.”

“You won’t do that,” Rylan said, his voice dropping to a low, steady register. “Because if you do, it’s going to make things very uncomfortable for everyone here.”

“They are already uncomfortable,” I said. “There are twelve people living in my three-bedroom house.”

“It’s our house,” Rylan corrected me, his eyes locking onto mine.

“No,” I said, the word ringing out in the quiet kitchen. “It’s my house. My name is on the deed. My grandmother left it to me.”

Solene sniffed loudly and crossed her arms, looking away toward the window.