“Fine.” I lift my arms to push his hands off.
Jace takes a step back and I can see the wall being resurrected.
“You should get changed.”
I glance down. Hoodie. Pajama shorts. Bare feet.Right.
Jace moves toward the couch as I head to the closet.
I stare at my clothes like they might give me answers.
They didn’t say where we’re going. Didn’t say what to wear. What to expect.
Just to get dressed.
My first instinct is practicality, black leggings, my most broken-in black boots. Comfortable, flexible, nothing that can snag if things go sideways.
But something in me itches to be bold.
Not like a target. Not like prey.
But like Isobel Ashthorne.
I grab the sheer black top I’ve never worn, a little clingy, subtly glittered at the sleeves. Underneath, a lace bralette that offers enough support and coverage in a pinch, but peeks just enough to make a statement. I throw on my cropped leather jacket, the one with reinforced lining, hidden snap compartments stitched into the hem.
The jacket’s heavier than it looks. So am I.
I tuck two daggers into my boots, hilts barely visible above the laces. A third blade slips into the lining of my sleeve, secured by a magnetic catch. A fourth rests flat along the inside panel of my jacket, angled for easy reach.
Just in case. Not because I’m scared. Because I’m prepared.
I lean over the vanity counter and swipe on eyeliner, dark and sharp. Add a little shimmer at the inner corners. Nothing too heavy, just enough to feel like armor.
When I step back and catch my reflection, something shifts. Not pretty. Not delicate. Lethal.
I inhale. Straighten my spine. Then I step out into the living room.
All four of them are already there — changed and waiting.
Noah’s in dark jeans and a navy crewneck, hands shoved into his pockets. Tex has a black tee stretched across his arms, worn jeans and boots scuffed from use. Luca’s in some impossibly expensive leather jacket with dark jeans. Jace wears all black — fitted shirt, a coat slung over his shoulder.
The moment they see me, everything stills.
Luca’s brows shoot up. A low whistle slips out before he grins. “Well, damn.”
Tex doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t blink. His hands open and close at his sides.
Noah blinks then looks away, a slow flush climbing up his neck.
And Jace… Jace just stares.
There’s no chill in his gaze. His mouth opens slightly, then he shuts it again, jaw clenched.
“Too much?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious. I glance down, tug at the edge of my jacket.
Luca’s already shaking his head. “Nope. Absolutely not. Ten out of ten. Would risk arrest.”
“You’re not wearing that dagger sheath I gave you,” Noah says, eyeing my jacket with subtle approval. “But you did compensate. Clever.”
