Tucked near the top of a hill in San Francisco sat an unobtrusive townhouse painted green to match the blue and yellow townhouses to either side of it on the street. If one looked past the complex suncatchers which dazzled all who spied through the windows, they would see a traditional open plan on the main floor with scuffed furniture suited to the family that lived inside of it.

They might see the inhabitants of the house, faces unrecognizable unless you knew them, and conversations suspiciously muffled no matter how energetic the people inside the townhouse were. 

Today, they might even see how the table in front of the bay window groaned under platters of cakes and lemon bars and cookies, enough to fill a confectioner’s shop.

They would not see the sun scaled dragon pacing back and forth in the livingroom, waiting for her latest batch of cakes to finish baking. Her yellow scales were covered in flour, so much so that even her golden freckle spots were completely hidden, and her dark feathery hair was almost grey. 

Lamis, for that was this dragon’s name, rubbed over her head. She wondered whether she could fit more cookie dough in the overflowing freezer.

Children. Four little dragons, hurting and in trouble, and coming home.

In the hours since Chi texted the family group chat about the children he found, Lamis  broke out her second stand mixer. However that was still not enough to assuage her pounding heart, so she’d pulled out her supply of mixing bowls as well to put together more treats. Her shoulders ached from hand whisking.

Lamis’s red eyes drifted towards a bag of almond flour that had so far escaped her rampage. Maybe she could make some macarons before the children came home…

“Hey, Lamis, you should sit down.” Pomenius, the eldest of the four dragons, sat on a cushion by the kitchen table, popping slices of finished cake into his mouth. His scales were a deep red. Even bipedal, he towered over his other siblings by several feet, and his shoulders were broad enough that he had to shift sideways to get through most doors. Lamis often would scale her brother’s back to lounge across them.

Chairs couldn’t hold Pom very well, so the family had settled on putting various cushions and pillows around the house for him to sit on instead of the furniture. Pom didn’t mind; sitting on the floor, the table came up to a little lower than was comfortable to lean his spiked elbows on.

Worrying the cracked scars on her hands, Lamis glanced at the timer on the top and bottom stoves. The cakes still weren’t done.

“Lammy, your hands,” Pom said, chidingly, and Lamis ripped her palms apart. 

“Right, I know, don’t stress the scars.”

“Are they hurting?” Pom asked. “I can get your meds.”

Lamis shook her head. “No. I’m just. Kids, Pom! We’re parents!” 

Pom smiled. “Yeah, I can hardly believe it!”

“We’re going to have to tell dad,” Lamis said. “He’s been wanting grandkids since we turned fourteen.”

“He can’t have been serious that young…” Pom grimaced. “Maybe.” He shook his great head. “We’ll tell pops and Orestes once the kids get settled.”

Lamis hummed, rubbing her palms together. “Do you think we should call Chi? It’s been nearly two hours since he said they got the kids.”

“Lammy, they’ll be fine,” Pom said. “Chi and Dio can handle it. We would get in the way of them doing their fancy medical stuff.” His tail lashed from side to side, betraying his agitation.

“But-” Lamis glanced at the timer again, tugging at a dark strand of hair that escaped its bun.

“If they need us, Chi will call us.” Pom’s long spiked tail nearly took out one of the table legs as it flicked back and forth.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Lamis pulled at her hair again, then clenched her hands till they ached. “But, Pom, kids. Our kids! And they’ve been–” 

They used to have nightmares, when they were younger, of just what humanity would do to them if they were ever found. When their dad brought them out of the Undercity to live on the surface, he’d poured stories of mobs with pitchforks and alien experimentation into their bedtime stories, in his efforts to keep his four little wyrms hidden inside the townhouse. Other than trips to the redwoods across the bay and the carefully tall walls of the backyard, Lamis and his siblings hadn’t left the townhouse. They hadn’t figured out how to look human like Hiroshi until they were thirteen, and even then their dad was wary of their enthusiastic exploration of their city. 

Lamis thought she had outgrown those childhood fears, but she could feel them creeping back to terrorize her sleep in the days to come, especially after Dio carefully explained what they were able to uncover about the PSS.

Lamis looked at the timer again, and she crossed into the kitchen. Maybe she could make another batch of frosting. There was still room in the fridge for more. Maybe.