I walked into the kitchen, my boots clicking softly on the linoleum.

Rylan was sitting at the oak table, drinking coffee from my grandmother’s favorite porcelain cup.

Solene stood by the stove, flipping pancakes in a cast-iron skillet.

She looked up and smiled, her eyes cold and triumphant.

“Look who decided to come home,” Solene said.

She set the spatula down on the counter with a soft click.

Rylan did not look up from his phone immediately.

He took a slow sip of his coffee before raising his eyes to mine.

“You missed breakfast, Calla,” he said, his voice smooth and untroubled.

“Where were you?”

I did not answer him.

I walked to the table and laid the manila envelope flat on the wood.

I slid it across the surface until it touched his coffee cup.

“What is this?” Rylan asked.

He did not reach for it.

“Open it,” I said.

My voice was steadier than I expected.

He sneered, a small twitch of his lip, but he picked up the envelope.

He pulled out the documents.

I watched his eyes scan the first page.