The mirror-call started badly.

Which, for this family, meant it started exactly on brand.

On the bunker side, the library had been turned into a crowd-control failure. Sam was on the sofa with two pillows at his back, one blanket over his legs, a glass of lemon water on the side table, and Dean pacing the rug in front of him like a man preparing to announce either a military invasion or a deeply emotional home renovation. Adrian stood near the mantle with his arms folded and the look of someone who had agreed to witness catastrophe only because leaving would somehow be more suspicious. Nina, Marta, Marco, Eli, Tasha, Jenna, and Luis had all been told very clearly that this was a private family call.

So naturally every single one of them was in the room anyway.

On the mansion side, the west sitting room looked calmer.

That should have been the warning.

Vlyluna was stretched sideways across a long blue sofa with one leg over the armrest, ribbons in her hair, a book open against her stomach, and the exact kind of expression she wore when she already knew too much and was waiting for other people to suffer through catching up. Dean John sat in a chair by the fire with a newspaper he had not turned in six minutes. Sam Ross had tea and composure, both of which were clearly temporary. Thomas moved in the background with surgical discretion. Mara pretended to be occupied by flower stems at a side console and fooled no one.

The mirror shimmered into focus.

Vlyluna took one look at the bunker side—at Dean’s pacing, Sam’s bright strange face, the staff packed like illegal witnesses behind the shelves, Adrian standing in that too-still way of his—and smiled.

“Oh,” she said. “You look like someone exploded a prophecy in your lap.”

Dean stopped pacing.

Sam laughed helplessly into one hand.

Nina made a strangled sound because that was, offensively, too accurate.

Vlyluna’s gaze sharpened on Sam first, then went lower, then lifted back to his face with delighted recognition.

“Ah,” she said. “It got louder.”

Dean looked betrayed. “Can everybody stop already knowing things before me?”

Vlyluna ignored him magnificently and sat up straighter.

“So,” she said, tucking one leg under herself, “who wants to tell me out loud?”

There was a beat.

Then, because no one else was apparently capable of surviving the sentence whole, Dean said it in one brutal exhale.