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"If Fizz says egg," Penny said, "then it is an egg. I will knit it a hat if needed."

Elara peered. "If it hatches a monster I will hit it with the flat of my blade. Gently."

Sera smiled into her hand again. "I will bless it," she said. "In case it tries to eat the curtains."

Edda stared a long time, then shrugged one shoulder. "If it is an egg, I know a woman who knows how to keep odd things warm."

Pim put both hands to his mouth. "Name it Eggward," he squeaked. "Or Rockard. Or John Egg."

John held the warm weight and felt something like a tiny slow heartbeat against his palm—or maybe it was his own, echoing. "All right," he said, and tucked it into his inner pocket where it sat like a secret that had agreed to wait.

Fizz dusted his paws. "Gifts delivered. Emotions deployed. Now we do the Adult Segment."

Penny clapped once. "Children out," she said briskly, pointing at Pim with her good spoon and then at the cat. "You too, scholar."

"Awwww," Pim complained, but he obeyed. He took a loaf end for study snacks and the cat for moral support. Together they went upstairs to the small back room where Penny kept the spare blankets and Pim kept his dreams.

The jugs came out—the named and the nameless. Sera shook her head. "No wine," she said. "I am a priestess. We drink words, not cups."

Fizz rolled his eyes with kindness. "One," he bargained. "For John. His first eighteen. One small cup. The goddess likes joy. It makes her less stern. I can show you footnotes."

Ina cackled. "He has footnotes."

Sera sighed, then smiled. "One," she agreed. "Small."

They poured. The first sip is always honest. Sera took it, cheeks pinking, and then found she liked the way the sweet burned and the burn turned soft. Fizz, a cool friend, topped her cup when she wasn't looking. Elara drank like a soldier on leave and then stopped on purpose. Edda nursed a glass the color of gold and kept count without anyone knowing. Penny did short shots and got louder. John had two cups and felt the edges of the room melt into a kinder curve.

Time forgot itself. They played games. Fizz invented half of them on the spot. "Two Truths and a Ridiculous Lie," which Sera won without trying. "Name That Smell," which Penny banned after two rounds. A quick, mean card game Edda taught them and then "accidentally" lost at so the birthday boy could feel clever. Elara arm-wrestled a chair and won. Someone made up a song about stew; it had too many verses and not enough tune and got better with every cup.

Sera laughed more than anyone had ever seen her laugh. It was not loud. It was deep. It came from someplace behind the chest where people keep quiet wishes. Each time she laughed, Elara's eyes softened like a hard stone getting rain.

The candles went shorter. The jugs went lighter. The room went warmer.

At some point Fizz declared a challenge. "Paladin," he said, pointing at Elara with a pretended sword. "Game. You and me. Stones and words. If you win, I will eat a cabbage leaf without insulting it. If I win, you must admit you like John."

Elara set her jaw. "I will never—" She stopped, saw the glint in his eye, and sighed like a door closing on a fight it didn't want. "Fine. Game."

"John," Fizz said, swiveling and suddenly gentle. "Sera is sleepy. Take her upstairs to the good room. Second floor. Left door. Penny keeps the soft pillows there."

Elara looked at Sera — who was smiling at the ceiling and humming a hymn that wanted to be a lullaby — and nodded. "Go. I would take her myself," she said to John, "but if I let him win unopposed I will never live it down." Her mouth twitched. "Also you are taller and the stairs like you this week."

John rose, more careful than drunk. Sera stood, swayed, and put a hand on his arm like it had been there before. "Up," she said, very serious about the concept. "Up is a holy direction."

"Yes," John said. "Up we go!!!"

They moved slowly. The room watched without watching, because friends know when to pretend not to see. The stair creaked a friendly hello. Sera leaned once and laughed at the sound like the stair had told a joke. John steadied her and the world got smaller and kinder at the edges.

At the top, the hall had a candle just for nights like this. It made light that loved faces. John opened the left door. The small room held a bed with Penny's best quilt and a chair that had been told not to squeak and was trying very hard to obey. The window was cracked for a fresh breath of night.

Sera blinked at the bed as if it were a mountain. "Soft," she said, impressed and wary.

John helped her sit. She tucked her feet up like a child who had been taught by a very stern old woman not to leave toes where night monsters could nibble them. She looked at John and smiled a different smile — gentler, heavier, fond.

"Happy birthday," she said, the words liquid and true. "John."

"Thank you," he said.

She put her hand over his for a heartbeat that felt longer than a heartbeat, then patted twice like she was blessing him again and sank back against the quilt with a sigh that sounded like a door closing right. Her eyes fluttered and then, like good candles do, went out slow.

John stood in the quiet a breath longer, making sure the window was a little open and the pillow a lot soft. He placed the little black "egg" on the chair where it could watch the moon and feel the night breathe. He pulled the blanket up to Sera's shoulder, because kindness is a habit you practice until you don't have to think.

Downstairs, Fizz whooped at a victory only he would call fair. Elara argued with a lamp. Penny told the stew it was still the best thing in the room. Edda moved the jugs out of reach with a hand so light it looked like nothing at all.

John stepped back into the hall and pulled the door to with a click.

The night held them — one asleep, one not, one egg listening to the moon. The party thumped on below like a heart that had finally remembered how to be loud on purpose.

And that is where the night paused, just for a breath, while the world took a picture for later.

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