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Tilly settles comfortably against my shoulder. She smells faintly of baby shampoo and the lotion we rub into her skin after baths. I hadn't realized I'd missed that scent until now. It reminds me of our shared home and all the good moments we’ve shared here.

“Did Uncle Chase spoil you?” I ask Tilly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“She smiled at me,” Chase brags.

“She smiles at ceiling fans, too.”

His expression shifts into one of deep offense. “I liked you better before you said that. That's the exact same thing Ollie told me on my first day here.”

“You'll survive,” Ollie comments.

“I might not.”

Watching them bicker is refreshing. It's easy to forget these two grew up relying on each other. Their teasing carries years of history, shaped by shared bedrooms, hand-me-downs, many foster homes and the miracle of surviving it all.

“Oh, you’re back.”

The quiet voice draws my attention behind me. Livia stands there, dressed in an oversized navy sweatshirt I recognize as one of Ollie’s and a pair of leggings. Her damp hair is braided loosely over one shoulder, and although the shadows beneath her eyes haven’t disappeared, they don’t seem quite as heavy as they did a few days ago.

“Yeah, it’s good to be home,” I tell her.

A shadow crosses Livia's face. Her features tighten, and for a split second there's something almost bitter in her eyes. Jealousy, maybe. Like the word home is one she's never quite believed in herself. I catch it before the mask slips back into place.

“Right,” she says.

The single word lands strangely between us. I wait for her to say something else, but she doesn’t. She folds her arms across her chest, fingers disappearing into the sleeves of Ollie’s sweatshirt, and suddenly I’m painfully aware of the distance between us.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

“Better.”

“I’m glad.”

Before I can decide whether to ask another question, Ollie calls from the kitchen. “If nobody rescues this garlic bread, Chase is going to eat the entire tray.”

“I'm taste-testing.”

“You've already eaten four slices!”

“Those all passed with flying colors.”

Livia huffs out a humorless laugh before walking into the kitchen. I should feel reassured watching her move through the apartment so naturally. Instead, unease settles low in my stomach. Maybe I’m reading too much into the clipped answers and guarded looks, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

Livia pushes her pasta around her plate before saying, “I was thinking...maybe I could stay here a little longer instead of getting my own place.”

The table stills in stages. Chase is the first to look up. Ollie's fork hangs halfway to his mouth. I keep my eyes on Livia, searching for the cracks she's trying to hide.

“Not forever, obviously,” she adds quickly. “Just a month or two. Until I figure out a job, meetings or whatever comes next.”

Ollie answers before the silence has a chance to settle. “Of course. There’s always room for you here, Liv.”

Livia's gaze flicks toward me before returning to her plate. “Well, I guess that's ultimately up to the woman living in your spare room.”

The words are light enough to pass as a joke. They're not.

Ollie lets out a small breath through his nose and reaches for his water. “It's okay,” he says evenly. “Peyton won't mind. We can sleep in my room.”

Livia's shoulders drop with relief. Ollie reaches over and squeezes her wrist, his expression so full of love that I almost miss the way my own smile freezes in place. Almost. I’m waiting for Ollie to look over and include me in the discussion. I expect him to silently check if I’m okay with his sister staying with us.