Isabelle felt it the moment he walked into the room.
The air didn’t stir, but her skin did — that subtle rise of awareness that came only when Sebastian was near. It wasn’t new. It had never gone away. But tonight, something about it felt heavier.
More present.
More dangerous.
She didn’t turn to look, not right away. Instead, she focused on Amelia’s high-pitched giggle as she pressed a star-shaped cookie cutter into the dough, flour dusting the table, her sleeves, her hair.
Elliott grumbled beside her, elbows on the counter. “Stars are boring.”
“They’re magic,” Amelia declared with authority, brushing back a rogue curl. “Stars make wishes happen.”
“Well, dinosaurs have teeth,” Elliott shot back, holding up a T-Rex cutter triumphantly.
Amelia frowned. “T-Rexes can’t bake.”
“Neither
