“That’s not true,” Axel says from beside me, his voice dry but amused. “I can cook just fine, I just don’t enjoy it like you do.”
“Because you’re impatient,” Atticus shoots back, and I can’t help the small laugh that slips out of me, surprising myself with how genuine it sounds.
It’s easier to ask questions now, easier to be curious instead of guarded, and once I start I realise I don’t really want to stop, because learning about them feels grounding in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
“So what was it like growing up here?” I ask, glancing between them. “Together, I mean.”
Atticus hums as he plates the food, clearly thinking about how to answer, while Axel leans back against the counter with his arms crossed, watching me like he’s measuring something he hasn’t named yet.
“Busy,” A
