Stepping into the kitchen, I'm greeted by Ollie's signature brightness that somehow fills every corner like summer sunshine.

"Morning, Nor," he says, sliding a glass of green sludge across the counter with showman's flourish. I eye it suspiciously before taking a sip, grimacing at the taste of liquid grass.

"Oh, my God, what is this?"

"Not you too." Ollie throws his hands up with theatrical flair. "Does anyone in this house care about their health?"

"Says the self-proclaimed King of the Keg," I counter, arching an eyebrow.

"Exactly," he grins, lifting his own glass in a mock toast that catches morning light. "The secret to my success is recovery, dear sister. Drink it." His eyes dance with mischief and something deeper, that eternal spark that makes Ollie who he is.

Despite myself, I laugh—the sound surprising me with its authenticity—and take another hesitant sip. Ollie leans against the counter, his tone softening like snow melting, seriousness slipping through his usual bravado.

"So, I'm taking Jake out today. Getting him away from the house. He wasn't in a good place last night. And you? You good?"

Ollie's always been the one who steps into roles none of us ask him to, wearing responsibility like a second skin. It's not just me he looks out for—it's all of us.

"Yeah, I’m good. Thanks, Ol," I say softly, meaning every syllable.

He clinks his glass against mine, grinning with that infectious warmth that's uniquely Ollie.

"Finish that smoothie."

I roll my eyes but comply, lifting the glass in mock toast as he brushes past Lydia entering the kitchen, their movements fluid like ships passing in familiar waters.

"Morning, Lyds!" Ollie chirps, flashing her a boyish smile that could charm birds from trees.

"Morning, sunshine," she replies, ruffling his hair affectionately as he heads down the hall, her fingers lingering like she's touching a memory.

Lydia's light laugh doesn't quite mask the weariness etched into her face—the faint circles under her eyes like bruises, the slight tremble in her hands reminiscent of autumn leaves. She crosses to the counter, pouring coffee with movements mechanical as a wind-up doll.

"What are you drinking?" she asks, confused at the dark green sludge Ollie left me with.

"An Ollie special."

"I think I'll stick to coffee in the mornings."

"You okay, Lydia?" I ask, leaning against the island, watching her carefully.

She pauses, hand hovering over the sugar jar like a hummingbird unsure where to land, before letting out a bitter laugh that sounds like breaking things.

"Honestly, I don't even know how to answer that anymore."

That is something I can relate to.

Lydia has always been the strong one but sitting across from her now, I see the fault lines she tries to hide, running deep beneath her composed surface.

"For what it's worth, I admire your strength, Lydia," I offer gently, the words falling between us like autumn leaves.