“I can tell.” Her gaze flicks to my hands. “You’re controlling your fingers. That’s a tell.”
I still my hands completely.
“Better?” I ask.
“Worse.” Her eyes brighten. “Now you look like you’re deciding whether to hurt someone.”
I stare at her. “Are you baiting me?”
“I’m trying to meet you,” she says, sweet again—syrup over a blade. “The real you. Not the version they put on TV.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it. I’m not giving Blake this moment. Not yet.
“Fine,” I say. “We do DNA. Private lab. No database. No paper trail. Just confirmation.”
Her face changes so fast it’s almost funny. Calm drops. Sweetness collapses. Eyes go sharp—too bright.
“No,” she snaps.
I blink. “No?”
“I said no.” She leans forward hard enough that her cup rattles. “You don’t get to demand pieces of me.”
“You demanded pieces of me,” I say evenly. “You walked into my life. You don’t get offended when I ask for proof.”
Her breath quickens. She’s slipping.
“You think you’re above me,” Iris hisses.
I hold her gaze. “I think you’re lying.”
Her smile goes feral. “I think you’re scared.”
It hits—not because it’s true, but because she wants it to be. She wants me off-balance. Reaching.
“You’re acting unstable,” I say.
She laughs loud enough that the couple nearby glances over. A barista looks up. Iris doesn’t care.
“Unstable?” she echoes. “Coming from you?”
“Lower your voice,” I say.
“You don’t control me,” Iris snaps.
I inhale slowly. There’s a small, buried part of me that flares—something close to panic. Not because I’m afraid of her physically. Because she’s unpredictable.
I can weaponize normal.
I can’t weaponize chaos.
“Okay,” I say, soothing, like I’m talking to a stray dog. “You’re right. I don’t control you.”
Her eyes narrow—suspicious of kindness. As she should be.
“I just want to know who you are,” I continue. “And if you’re family.”
“I am,” Iris says, voice shaking now. “I’m your sister.”
