1876

I have the perfect life. I remind myself of this every morning as I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, deciding what to wear, though I can't imagine why I'd need the reminder when there's so little to complain about. I have a beautiful home, a wardrobe full of dresses I adore, wonderful friends, and a life that, as far as I'm concerned, couldn't possibly be any better. In Eden, things have a way of falling into place, and I've never had much reason to question it.

Today, I've settled on a white dress with a fitted waist and a little bow at the back. It's simple enough for a casual morning but pretty enough that I won't have to change if the girls decide to make plans later. I smooth the fabric over my hips and turn slightly to inspect the back in the mirror, satisfied with how it looks. My long, sandy-brown hair falls in loose curls around my shoulders, the ends brushing against the fabric whenever I move. I try gathering it over one shoulder, then the other, before deciding that it looks better down. It usually does.

My hairbrush sits on the vanity across the room, half-hidden beneath a magazine and a small collection of jewelry. I lift my hand and curl my fingers toward my palm. The brush rises from the tabletop and glides through the air until it settles neatly into my waiting hand. I run it through my curls, working carefully around a stubborn tangle near the back of my head before setting it aside. My earrings follow next, floating out of their jewelry box and fastening themselves around my ears, and by the time I've finished applying perfume, my bracelet has slipped from the bedside table onto my wrist.

It's a wonderfully convenient way to live. I've never understood why anyone would bother making three trips across a room when a simple movement of the hand can accomplish the same thing. If I misplace something, I can usually find it without even leaving my seat, and there's no need to worry about dropping anything when I can catch it before it reaches the floor. Of course, there are moments when I use my ability simply because I can. Making the curtains draw themselves open in the morning, for instance, is far more satisfying than reaching for the cords.

Sunlight spills through the tall windows, illuminating the pale walls and polished floors of my bedroom. The room is spacious enough to accommodate a sitting area beside the windows, a king-sized bed at its center, and a dressing room hidden behind a pair of double doors. Inside, rows of dresses hang in carefully arranged colors, while shelves of shoes line the walls beneath the soft glow of the overhead lights. I have more clothes than I could possibly wear in a year, but that has never stopped me from finding something new to admire whenever I open the wardrobes.

After one final inspection of my reflection, I collect my handbag and make my way downstairs. The staircase curves along the entrance hall, its white banister gleaming in the morning light, and my footsteps carry softly through the house. I pass the sitting room, where the curtains have already been drawn back, and glance through the immaculate glass windows as I go. My reflection follows me across the pane, revealing the deep mahogany of my skin against the white dress, my curls framing my face and my gold jewelry catching the light. I pause for a moment to straighten one of my earrings before continuing toward the kitchen.

The house is quiet, but it never feels empty. There is something comforting about the familiar arrangement of everything: the flowers in their crystal vases, the framed paintings hanging evenly along the walls, the furniture polished until it shines. Even the sunlight seems to have found its proper place, spilling through the windows and stretching across the marble floor. I pour myself a glass of orange juice, take a few sips while checking the time, and set it aside when I realize I should be prepared.

I leave the kitchen and cross the entrance hall, eyeing the front door open where the bright morning light shines through. Eden always looks lovely beneath the cloudless sky. The lawns are neatly trimmed, the flower beds are bursting with color, and the houses along the street stand in their familiar rows, each with its own garden and welcoming front porch. Usually, a few girls are already walking along the pavement, chatting as they head toward the center of town, while someone farther down the street waves to a neighbor from an open doorway.

The morning air is always warm, carrying the faint scent of flowers from the gardens. A smile comes naturally to my lips as I think of my home. Whatever the day has planned, I'm sure it will be something worth talking about later.

After all, there's no place I'd rather be than Eden.

On cue, the doorbell rings, echoing throughout the large mansion like a lullaby.

Every morning, at this exact time, the doorbell rings, and on the other side stand the same three girls who have been making themselves at home in my life for as long as I can remember. It's a routine so familiar that I can't imagine a morning without it.

I move with speed, crossing the entrance hall to answer the door. The moment I pull it open, Crystal practically bounces on her heels, a bright smile spreading across her face.

"Finally!" she exclaims, throwing her arms out as though I've kept her waiting for hours instead of a few seconds. "I was beginning to think you'd abandoned us."

"You rang the doorbell approximately five seconds ago," Rogue points out from beside her.

"Five very long seconds."

I laugh, stepping aside to let them in. "Good morning to you, too, Crystal."

"Good morning!" Crystal chirps, sweeping past me and into the house as if she owns the place. Her long blonde hair falls in loose waves down her back, catching the sunlight that spills through the windows, and her bright blue eyes wander around the entrance hall as though she expects to find something exciting waiting for her. Knowing Crystal, she probably does. She has a remarkable talent for finding amusement in the most ordinary things and an even greater talent for getting distracted halfway through a conversation.

Rogue follows at a more leisurely pace, giving me a small smile as she passes. Her dark hair is pulled away from her face, leaving her hazel eyes unobstructed, and there's a quiet ease to the way she carries herself. She's not the sort to greet someone by shouting across a room or throwing herself into their arms, but she never makes anyone feel unwelcome, either. Rogue has a way of making her affection known without making a production of it, whether through a thoughtful question, a knowing smile, or the simple fact that she always shows up when she says she will.

"Morning, Hunter," she says, leaning in to give me a brief hug.

"Morning. Did you sleep well?" I ask.

"Always." Her gaze flickers toward Crystal, who's already inspecting the decorative bowl on the hall table. "Though I have a feeling the day is going to be exhausting."

"She's been talking since we left her house," Rogue adds.

"I have not!" Crystal calls from across the hall.

"You asked me three times whether we should get breakfast before coming here, twice whether Hunter would want to go shopping, and once whether you left your hairbrush at home."

Crystal turns around, her expression suddenly thoughtful. "Wait. Did I leave my hairbrush at home?"

I bite back a laugh as Rogue gives me a look that suggests this is precisely what she's been dealing with all morning.

Before I can answer, Ivy steps through the doorway, closing the distance between us with her usual unhurried grace. Her long black hair falls smoothly past her shoulders, framing her face and the warm brown of her eyes. There's something soothing about Ivy's presence, a quiet gentleness that seems to follow her wherever she goes. Even when the rest of us are talking over one another, she has a way of making everything feel a little calmer simply by being there.

"Good morning," she says, her smile soft and sincere.

"Good morning." I lean forward to hug her, and she returns it with a gentle squeeze before stepping back to look at me properly.

"That dress is lovely, Hunter."

I glance down at myself, smoothing the skirt with my hands. "Thank you. I wasn't sure what to wear."

"You say that every morning," Rogue remarks.

"And somehow she always looks like she spent an hour deciding," Crystal adds, finally abandoning the bowl and coming back toward us. She looks between Ivy and me, then down at her own outfit as if she's only just remembered she's wearing clothes. "Actually, do you think I should've worn the pink one?"

"No," Rogue answers immediately.

"You didn't even think about it!"

"I didn't need to."

Ivy covers her smile with one hand, and I can't help laughing along with her. This is how most mornings go. Crystal asks a question, Rogue answers with the sort of blunt certainty that leaves no room for debate, and Ivy quietly enjoys the entire exchange. I usually find myself somewhere in the middle, attempting to keep the conversation on track while knowing perfectly well that it never stays there for long.

I look at the three of them gathered in my entrance hall, and for a moment, I feel that familiar rush of gratitude I always feel whenever we're together. Ivy, with her gentle nature and thoughtful little compliments. Rogue, who can say more with a single look than most people can manage in an entire conversation. Crystal, who never seems to run out of things to say or reasons to laugh. They're as much a part of my life as the house I live in, the streets I walk every day, and the powers I've had for as long as I can remember.

I can't imagine Eden without them.

"So," I say, reaching for my handbag again, "what are we doing today?"

Crystal's face lights up as though she's been waiting her entire life for someone to ask.

"Oh, you're going to love this."