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Her eyes, though—they are a storm. A flash of disbelief. A spark of anger.

And deeper, beneath all that, something that looks dangerously close to hurt.

She tries to mask it, lifting her chin as if she’s unaffected, as if none of this touches her. But I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her chest rises with one slow breath, small and uneven.

The room is loud—laughter, teasing, Maya still saying something dramatic behind me—but for a moment, it all fades.

All I see is her.

And her reaction hits me low, like a warning.

She’s hurt. And she’s trying desperately to hide it.

I shouldn’t care.

I don’t care.

If Nick says something about me and her, Thalia’s going to die of embarrassment. No—she’ll want to sprint out of the house the second he even hints at it.

Arms crossed over my chest, a smirk pulling at my lips, I watch him closely.

A silent challenge.

A go on, I dare you.

I can feel it—he wants to throw my line back at me, to make this whole scene explode, to make it more entertaining.

But before he can open his mouth, Serena appears at my feet like a tiny hurricane of sweetness, tugging insistently at the leg of my pants. She tilts her head back, her huge, impossibly beautiful green eyes looking up at me.

“Missed you, Tan,” she says, her little face absolutely adorable.

And just like that, Nick disappears from my radar. Everyone disappears.

I crouch down and scoop her into my arms, pressing a soft kiss to her neck. She bursts into giggles—that bright, pure, magical sound only a child can make.

“I missed you too, baby girl,” I answer softly, kissing her again. “You smell so good,” I murmur between more kisses. “Hmm… I think I might just eat you.”

Her laughter grows even louder, filling every corner of the house in seconds.

“I’m not food, Uncle Tan,” she manages through her giggles, gripping handfuls of my hair as if that could stop me from showering her with kisses.

I pull back, staring at her with an exaggerated expression of shock.

“You’re not?” I gasp. “Jesus. What am I supposed to eat then?”

She keeps both her tiny hands tangled in my hair, her face turning serious in that dramatic, innocent way only a child can manage.

“Food,” she says matter-of-factly, as if the answer is so obvious it physically pains her that I don’t know it already.

The entire room erupts into laughter, joy spilling through the house.

All the teasing from earlier dissolves instantly, forgotten in the warmth of her innocence and the sound of her laughter.

And for a moment—a brief, unexpected moment—even the tension with Thalia feels distant.

After dinner, once everyone finished chatting, we cleaned the table and lingered together for another hour or so before finally deciding to call it a night.

Thalia and I reach my bedroom at the same time. I walk right behind her and close the door.