She woke to the smell of hot synth-cheese and spent grease, Xander already up and clattering in the busted kitchen. He’d scrounged a skillet that didn’t lose its handle to rust, and now he nonchalantly tossed a pancake that was half protein powder, half dandelion greens. The kids mobbed him, hands out, mouths open, but he played the tyrant—“One per mouth, don’t get greedy.” Carolina watched from the doorway, arms folded, repressing a smile that threatened to take her whole face. Finch had climbed onto the counter, making eagle noises; Lyra pretended the pancake was a communion wafer and pronounced Xander a saint.Carolina waited for the tide to turn—disputes, spillage, the inevitable escalation—but Xander’s patience was a stone. He didn’t flinch when syrup hit his shirt, just wiped up, grinned, and flicked powdered sugar at the offending party. Morgan, observing from the table, caught Carolina’s eye and deadpanned, “If he ever dies, we’re all eating rats.”“Rats are a delicacy, with t
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