Regan’s expression changed. Not soft. Worse. Understanding.
“Mase,” she said quietly, “not everything that leaves was yours to lose.”
I stepped back like she’d swung on me.
“Don’t.”
She held up both hands. “Fine. But hear me. You scare her off tonight, I’ll make you regret it.”
“You threatening me?”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
She stared back.
Damned if I didn’t respect it.
“Noted,” I said.
“Good.”
She turned toward the patio like the conversation was done. Maybe it was. I stood there a second longer, jaw tight, hands flexing at my sides. Inside the house, I thought I heard the faint clink of glass. Then silence. Then the patio door opened from the other side, and Sienna stepped back into the firelight with drinks in hand and a smile on her face.
Smooth.
Too smooth.
I knew fake when I saw it.
She handed out the glasses, sat down, and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Regan looked at her with a quick frown, concern flickering, but Sienna gave her nothing. Just that polite little curve of her mouth, easy as a locked door.
She’d heard.
Something ugly twisted in my gut.
Gunner moved beside me, low voice barely carrying. “Nice work.”
“Shut up.”
“She’s running.”
“She’s sitting right there.”
“She’s already gone in her head.”
I knew that too.
I watched Sienna laugh at something Amber said, and there it was again—that wrongness. Not suspicion this time. Not the gut-scratch that warned of danger.
Guilt.
I didn’t like guilt. It was useless unless it made a man fix something. But I didn’t know how to fix this without making it worse. Walk over there and apologize? She’d probably gut me with one of those sharp little science words. Pretend I hadn’t said it? Coward’s move. Let her leave in the morning and tell myself it was safer that way?
That one felt easiest.
Which meant it was probably the wrong choice.
