That's how things work in Doran's world.
Everything moves when he says move.
Everyone waits when he says wait.
It should probably unsettle me more than it does.
The power. The control.
The way men in suits appear out of nowhere to open doors and carry bags and speak in low voices about things I'm not supposed to hear.
But I grew up in the Raiders of Valhalla MC.
Daughter of the president.
Iknowwhat power looks like. I know how it moves.
This is just a different flavor of the same thing.
"How are you feeling about tomorrow?" Rev asks, her shoulder bumping mine as the SUV takes a curve.
Tomorrow. Seeing Greer.
My stomach does a slow roll.
"Fine."
"Liar."
"Optimistically terrified?"
Rev laughs, and the sound loosens something in my chest.
We don't look identical—she's softer, settled into her life in ways that show in the curve of her cheeks, the ease of her posture.
I'm sharper and lighter.
Still hungry for something I haven't quite caught yet.
But our laughs are the same. They always have been.
"She's going to love them," Rev says, and there's no question in her voice.
No room for doubt.
That's my sister.
Once she decides something is true, the universe has no choice but to agree.
"She hasn't loved anything in months. Keiran showed her his fall collection concepts last week, and she said—and I quote—'I've seen more originality in airport gift shops.'"
"Keiran's a hack."
"Keiran went to Parsons."
"And you dropped out of med school to follow your gut." Rev's hand finds mine again. "Your gut is smarter than Keiran'sentireeducation."
I want to believe her.
