There was another private conversation going on.
In the Reyes household, Kalen and Kaylani sat cross‑legged on the floor of their shared room, whispering like conspirators.
They too were trying to piece together what they had seen inside the book.
They compared mental notes, trying to fill in each part as they went along — the colors, the movements,
the swirls of light, the way everything shifted like paint in water.
Kaylani hugged her knees.
“Do you think we’re supposed to go back?”
Kalen shook his head. “Not until the treehouse is fixed. The book showed us that for a reason.”
Kaylani frowned. “Do you think Mama knows something? She always knows something.”
Kalen shrugged. “Maybe. But she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”
“She didn’t act like she knew anything. Papa either,” Kaylani whispered.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway — slow, tired adult footsteps.
The bathroom door opened, then closed.
The kids froze instantly, holding their breath.
They stayed silent until the toilet flushed, the sink ran, and the footsteps moved back down the hall.
Only when the bedroom door across the hall clicked shut did they let out the breaths they’d been holding.
The rain tapped softly against their window.
Kaylani whispered, “I’m scared. But I want to go back.”
Kalen whispered, “Me too.”
“You think Solani would go back without us?” Kaylani asked softly, clutching her stuffed lamb, Mr. Snuggly, close to her chest.
“I hope not,” Kalen said flatly.
They climbed into their beds, the room dim except for the soft glow of the hallway light under the door.
They agreed — without saying it too loudly — not to bring any of this up in front of the grown‑ups.
Not yet.
Not until they could figure it out.