“I wasn’t worried,” I say, opening the door for Kira.
“Sure you weren’t.” Milana winks at me as Kira climbs in beside me, brushing her sleeve against mine. The scent of her shampoo lingers, maddeningly distracting.
Calina hands Kira a paper cup from the console. “Coffee. We thought you might need it after dealing with him.”
Kira laughs, the sound small but real. “You have no idea.”
Milana gasps in mock offense. “Already ganging up on him? I like her more and more every day.”
“So do I,” Calina says lightly, settling back in her seat. “She’s honest.”
Kira blushes a little, hiding behind her coffee. I start the car, pretending I don’t notice.
Milana nudges Calina. “See? They’re cute together.”
“Enough,” I say, but there’s no real edge to it.
Milana only laughs, tilting her head toward Kira. “Don’t mind him.”
“I’m learning,” Kira says, smiling into her cup.
Calina and Milana exchange a knowing look in the back, already chatting about plans for later. Their laughter fills the car, soft and easy, and it makes everything feel less like a job and more like something dangerously close to normal.
I start the car. She doesn’t look at me; she watches the street slide by instead. Her hair’s begun to dry in loose waves, catching the light whenever we pass under the gaps between buildings. For a man who doesn’t believe in distractions, I find myself cataloguing every one of them.
Milana’s laughter carries from the back seat. “You two look like newlyweds who already regret it.”
“Drive faster,” Kira says under her breath.
I hide a smile. “She’s not wrong.”
She turns her head sharply toward me. “Excuse me?”
“You’re tense,” I say, keeping my tone mild. “People will notice.”
“People already notice,” she mutters. “You’re six-foot-three and terrifying.”
Milana gasps theatrically. “He is not terrifying. He’s adorable when he’s bossy.”
Calina sighs. “Milana.”
“What? I’m boosting morale.”
Kira snorts into her coffee, and for a second, the edge between us softens.
The rest of the ride is quiet except for the hum of the city and Milana’s playlist drifting from the speakers. Kira leans her head against the window, the sunlight painting faint gold over her skin.
When our arms brush, the contact is brief, accidental, but it sends an odd current through the stillness. I focus on the road, pretending not to notice.
The private terminal is quiet. The air smells of jet fuel and polished marble. A man in a suit steps forward the second we pull up, greeting me by name and shaking my hand with that particular blend of deference and calculation I’ve grown used to.
Kira lingers a step behind my sisters, close enough to Milana to pretend she belongs there. The jet waiting on the tarmac glints white under the morning sun, perfect and clinical, like every other expensive cage I’ve ever built.
Calina leans toward Kira, her voice light. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t crash them.”
Kira manages a small laugh. “That’s comforting.”
Her tone’s casual, but I can see the tension in her hands, the way she keeps them buried in her coat pockets. I could tell her that it’s normal, that it’ll pass once we’re in the air—but I don’t. Some things you learn by feeling them.
