Jax:a named driveway
Jax:exactly what this night needed
Caleb:We drove past a hedge maze.
Caleb:What do we do when we get there?
Killian:I don't know.
Jax:he doesn't know
Jax:killian blackwood doesn't have a plan
Jax: write that down someone
Arthur:Noted.
Liam:Should we do the icebreakers now?
Caleb:We're past icebreakers.
Jax:yeah we skipped straight to shared felonies
Mateo:I thought we were doing team building.
Jax:mateo that WAS team building
April
KILLIAN'S HOUSE WAS less of a home and more of an estate, with a driveway long enough to qualify for its own zip code and gates that swung open like they'd been expecting them. They drove past personally selected trees until the house came into view—clean lines and floor-to-ceiling windows, designed by someone who'd been told 'money is no object.'
The driver opened her door. She stepped onto a driveway smoother than most public roads. Killian stood by his car, watching her emerge from Dante's.
"You live here.” It wasn't a question, only an observation about the absurdity of her day. Inside, the house was more ridiculous than the exterior. Everything was aggressively expensive. The entryway alone was larger than her entire apartment, with soaring ceilings, marble floors, and dramatic lighting that felt more like a gallery than a home.
“This is ridiculous,” April said.
“It’s home,” Killian replied, and there was a faint edge to it.
“It’s both,” Liam said, strolling into a living room. “Ridiculously home.”
Arthur disappeared toward the kitchen, Mateo trailing after him as if food was a civic duty.
“Sit,” Killian said, gesturing toward the living room. She sat on the couch next to Jax, who shifted to make room. Killian took the spot on her other side, picking up her hand.
Liam claimed a chair. Dante claimed a chair near the windows, watching the skyline like it might misbehave. Caleb perched on the arm of the couch like he'd been born knowing how to take up space. Jiro settled onto the floor near her feet, casual in a way that didn't feel casual at all. Arthur returned with plates of food that smelled incredible, handed one to April. “Eat.”
She ate, and the tightness in her chest loosened. A full stomach was not a solution, but it was a start. As she ate, the men began to drift. Conversation scattered into smaller groups as people stopped performing and started existing in the same space.
Her plate was half-empty when Jax shifted beside her, not looking at her, making space the way he always did. His phone was in his hand. His thumb moved once. Her phone buzzed. She glanced down, expecting a poem. Instead, a notification sat at the top of her screen.
You’ve been added to a shared folder.
She opened it.
A grid loaded—neat rows, clean labels. Everyone's test results, timestamped and current. Her thumb stilled as she turned toward him. “You’ve been doing this the whole time.”
Jax nodded. “It made sense.”
