"…Not the gong. Not again. The neighbors are still recovering from the last emotional exorcism."
But Shen was already halfway up the stairs, robes billowing like a caffeinated cult leader.
Flynn edged toward the pantry. "I'm telling you—Protocol Meringue was made for days like this. Grab the banana bread and meet me behind the quinoa shelf."
Lady Summers remained seated, stirring her tea with a menace usually reserved for Shakespearean revenge plots. "Let us face this together. As a family. A deeply traumatized, questionably stable family."
The garage door finally stuttered open with the tortured groan of a thousand suppressed secrets.
And out walked…
A man.
Wearing what could only be described as haute couture medieval armor, complete with rhinestone pauldrons and a sequined codpiece.
"I bring parsnips," he announced.
Adelle nearly inhaled a napkin. "Of course you do."
