He huffs softly.
“Looks like it.”
A beat. Then quieter. Sharper.
“Set. Match point, Stel. You in… or you out?”
That lands exactly where it should.
Because he’s right.
This isn’t practice.
This isn’t theory.
This is the moment.
And I already warned her.
I’m back in the game.
My eyes lock on them again. On her hand. On his arm. On the way he hasn’t moved it.
Something in me clicks.
Clean. Final.
“Watch this,” I murmur.
Then I move.
Each step deliberate.
He feels me before he sees me. I know it.
Because the second I get close—his head lifts.
Eyes lock on mine.
And there it is.
That shift.
That tension snapping tight under his skin.
Good.
I stop at the table.
“Hey,” I say lightly.
Isa looks up first. Her smile is instant—perfect.
“Hey.”
Tristan doesn’t speak.
He just watches me.
