But I don't.
Can't.
The part of me that would have felt those things died ten years ago in the fire that took my parents.
What's left is just... practical.
Efficient.
A girl who kills when necessary and doesn't lose sleep over it.
My toe starts tapping.
Automatic response.
One-two-three-four.
One-two-three-four.
Against the floor of the G-Wagon, keeping time with some internal rhythm only I can hear.
Jett glances back at me from the passenger seat—those storm-grey eyes tracking the movement, cataloguing it, understanding what it means without needing explanation.
My fingers join in.
Tapping against my thigh.
One-two-three-four.
One-two-three-four.
Matching the rhythm of my toes, creating a symmetry that feels right in a way I can't articulate.
"You good?" Sage asks quietly, his hand finding mine and stilling the tapping.
I nod.
"Yeah. Just..." A giggle escapes. "Processing. Today has been a lot."
"Four orgasms before noon is definitely a lot," Blaze agrees cheerfully.
"And one upcoming murder," I add.
"Can't forget that."
The car pulls out of the driveway, onto the private road that connects our property to the main highway. Trees line both sides—tall and dense, providing the privacy that our particular lifestyle requires.
Ten minutes to Juilliard.
That's what they promised when we moved here.
Ten minutes from our home to the school I've dreamed about since I was a child.
The scholarship that seemed impossible.
The future that shouldn't exist.
But here I am.
