"That's not reassuring."
Her mouth curves. Small, tired, almost apologetic. "It's not meant to be." She turns back to the group, shoulders squaring as though she's physically shaking off the tension. "Where were we?"
Ruby points her phone at Frankie. "You're hiding something."
"I'm always hiding something." She takes a pointed sip of water.
"This feels bigger," Ruby insists.
Frankie sets the bottle down. "Let it feel."
Candace's eyes stay on Frankie another beat, reading, calculating. She shifts, making space for the conversation to move past this.
Maggie follows, reaching for a brownie. "So. Timing."
Darla picks up the thread. "Stagger the pranks. Don't give them time to regroup."
Ruby hesitates, still watching Frankie. Exhales and turns to the whiteboard. "Fine. But I'm coming back to this."
"I'm sure you will," Frankie murmurs.
The room settles back. Plans, laughter, marker on whiteboard. But I stay standing another beat, glass clutched in my hand. Listening. The sound doesn't come again.
But I can't shake the memory of it. Low, frustrated, raw. Can't shake the way Arden moved, as though he was responding to something only he and Frankie understood. Something that needed him down there. Alone.
I sit back down, but my attention keeps drifting to that closed door. To the silence pressing up from below.
Frankie laughs at something Ruby says. Her timing's perfect. Her eyes aren't in it. When she reaches for her water, her hand is shaking.
Chapter 40
Knox
Morninglightbleachesthebedroom in a way that feels accusatory. Too clean. Too ordinary.
The tight coil under my skin doesn't buy it.
Sloane is already dressed for the gym, moving with the efficiency she uses when she doesn't want to think about what comes next. Leggings, tank, sneakers laced tight. Hair pulled back a notch too severely, every strand disciplined. The fabric stretches clean over muscle she earned the hard way. My attention catches on her hips, thighs, the strong line of her back before I rein it in. There's brittleness in how she moves. She checks her ponytail, smooths it, checks again. Rolls her shoulders, testing joints before impact. When she bends to tie her shoes, she does it facing away from the mirror, jaw set, avoiding it on purpose.
I lean into the doorway, eyes still on her ass, and don't pretend otherwise.
"You know, if you keep bending over that way, we're going to be late."
She snorts, but there's tension under it. "You're impossible."
"Untrue. I'm very possible. You just don't have time for me."
She straightens, glancing over her shoulder. "This is you being supportive?"
"This is me being honest. Support comes after."
"After what?"
"After you finish tying your shoes. And after I get my hands on you for ten seconds."
She shakes her head, but her breath catches. "Five."
"Ten. Non-negotiable." I'm already reaching.
