Frida and her sons watched things unfold through the window.
The smoke in the caffé rolled out like a confused fog creeping into the street.
"What's going on over there? Where did all this smoke come from?" Frida asked, squinting.
Caro and Caden exchanged that secret-brother look.
"I think the aliens are making a move, Caden," Carl whispered, like he didn't want the smoke to hear him.
Caden nodded. "I think so too, but we can't even see anything because of all the smoke."
Carl tapped his chin dramatically. "That's true."
Frida glanced at her children. "What are you two murmuring about?"
Both froze instantly—like she caught them stealing meat from the pot.
"Nothing, mum," they chorused, guilty as ever.
Frida sighed. "Your sisters are probably in their rooms missing this pleasant view of the competition getting taken out."
Then—
The smoke cleared.
Quietly. Almost too quietly.
Frida and her sons stared.
