“Watch it,” I murmur.
“Why?” she challenges. “You gonna arrest me for disrespecting your grumpy authority?”
I lean in just enough that she smells me—cold air, coffee, the faint grease that never fully leaves my skin.
“Careful, Firefly,” I say, voice low. “I might start liking the way you talk back.”
Her eyes darken.
“Too late,” she whispers.
That does something to me. Something I don’t name.
I step past her before I do something stupid.
“Show me the panel,” I say.
She follows, still flustered, still stubborn. “It’s in the back.”
The back of the studio is half torn apart, drywall exposed in one corner, wires running like veins behind the surface. I crouch, set my tool bag down, and start working without explaining every move, because she’d argue with me just to prove a point.
“Did Saxon really order you?” she asks, hovering.
“Yes.”
“And you just… obey?”
I glance up at her. “You think I’m here because I wanted to spend my morning in your glitter cave?”
Her mouth twists. “It’s not a glitter cave.”
“It’s going to be,” I say, popping the panel open. “I can feel it.”
She crosses her arms again and watches me work like she’s trying to catch me doing something wrong.
“What’s wrong with the wiring?” she asks.
I point with my screwdriver. “This is old work. Spliced poorly. Whoever did this before you either didn’t know what they were doing or didn’t care if it burned down.”
Her expression shifts—serious now. Quiet.
“I didn’t do that,” she says.
“I know,” I reply.
She frowns. “How?”
“Because it’s not colorful enough,” I deadpan.
She gapes. Then she laughs, and the sound hits me right in the chest.
“Shut up,” she says, smiling.
“No,” I say, returning to the panel. “This line’s live when it shouldn’t be. If you’d plugged in your ‘festive sparkle,’ you could’ve caused an arc.”
Her smile fades. “So… I could’ve started a fire.”
“Yeah.” I look back at her, letting the word hang. “You could’ve.”
