Spring arrived almost by accident.
One week the yard was all frozen ruts and dirty snowbanks; the next, the mud started to smell like earth instead of old storm, and tiny green things had the audacity to poke up between the roots.
Lyra noticed it first in the way the pups’ coats started to shed. Then in the fact that Ivy threatened to make everyone help plant a garden “unless you want to keep living on carbs and meat forever.”
“Sounds great,” Luka said. Ivy threw a trowel at him.
Today, the sky was a clear, impossible blue. The air had just enough bite that a hoodie was comfortable, not necessary. The wards hummed low and content—the line settled for the first time in months.
Lyra sat cross‑legged on the grass behind the main house, surrounded by…chaos.
Specifically, toddler chaos.
